


We're All In

by 99bottlestogo (darkside213)



Series: Pendragon Life [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 3rd story, Action/Adventure, Angst, Friendship, Gen, Growing Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 13:11:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 108,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9273263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkside213/pseuds/99bottlestogo
Summary: Sequel to By Your Side. Jamie Pendragon has had a tough two years. Between cursed stones and giant serpents she's tired of monsters within the castle. But there is a new danger afoot in the form of Sirius Black, the escaped mass murderer. What does he want with her best friend Harry, and why does Jamie's family have so many secrets? Find out in Jamie's third adventure filled year!





	1. Welcome to the New World

**Author's Note:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

When I go back and think on my time when I was going into my third year, I remember the precarious state that I was in. Emotions ran high, and the world was taking a turn into the dangerous and uncharted. Little did I know that growing up would come with all this trouble. The problem is you can’t change any of it.

 

Chapter 1- Welcome to the New World

 

The breeze rips past me, and sends strands of my golden brown hair whipping into my eyes. I don’t bother trying to sweep it back behind my ear. I had already come to the conclusion that it was a worthless act. The wind would just pick right back up again. I pull my hands into my jumper’s sleeves and glare at the faintly lit house in front of me.

A shadow passes in front of the window and judging by the size, its Kingsley standing there staring out at me. Not that I’d ever talk to him even if he was going to attempt to converse with me. I guess it’s an understatement to say that things are uncomfortable at home.

I almost wish that I was with Harry and his wizard hating family. Almost. I’m not that desperate yet. The wind picks up into a howl again, so it masks the crunching sound of my brother coming foot under the tree that I’m sitting high up in. “Are you going to stay up there the rest of summer?” Luka calls up to me when the wind lessens.

I drop my gaze lower to take in my brother. He’s wrapped his silver and blue Ravenclaw scarf around his neck to fight off the unusual crisp chill that has descended over the plain. Luka pushing up his newly acquired glasses on the bridge of his nose. It shocks me still to see him wearing them for he’s worn contacts for so long.

“I rather like the environment out here. At least there is a good reason for the chill that creeps up.” I reply in a bored voice desperately trying to keep the emotion out of my voice. I didn’t think that I would take it this hard being betrayed like this. Kingsley isn’t my father— not really. He’s just my guardian. My parents are dead… and my uncle helped kill them off.

I heard a scuffle down below and refocus my attention in time to watch Luka haul himself up into the tree next to me. He balances precariously on a branch next to me, and lets out an embarrassing little squeak when another gust of wind comes up again.

“What is it with you and bloody heights? Its like you’re part bird or something?” Luka grumbles once he feels secure enough in his purchase to talk again.

“I’m a dragon Luka its in my nature to attempt to gain freedom in the air.” I deadpan right back to him. A pang of pain runs through me at the thought of my family yet again.

“Please Jamie lets be serious for a few moments. This is huge! We have more family out there; we aren’t the only ones now! Everything that we thought that we knew has changed! Not to mention that our dear Uncle Augustus wants to murder us in our sleep! I hardly think that Kingsley keeping this from us should be our only concern here.” Luka cries. I growl lowly in the back of my throat.

“You think that I haven’t thought about that? I have done nothing but think about that since I found out! You try finding that out from a living diary bent on killing your friends and then toying with you just to see you be driven mad before allowing you to silently slip off into the darkness.” I yell back.

Luka stiffens and bites his lower lip in worry. I’m only thirteen. I shouldn’t have to be worrying about these types of things. I should be worrying on whether or not I got my best friend the perfect birthday present (I got Harry a mini replica of a Quidditch pitch players included). I should be jealous that the Weasley’s came into some money from the Wizard’s lottery and they all went on a trip to Egypt to see Bill the eldest son.

I can’t even wonder about all the cool things that Hermione’s seeing in France for I’m stuck at home in a hostile environment with a man that I thought that I could trust with my life. Not to mention the murderous Azkeban residing uncle who has a chip on his shoulder because he could not kill my brother and me.

So yes the world can go and shove it for I’m not in the mood to play games and be all forgiving anymore.

“You know… Kingsley was only trying to protect us. Its not like he was trying to keep it from us to hurt us or anything. He was just worried that we’d be scared and not be able to live our lives anymore.” Luka says hesitantly. I grit my teeth and glare off into the distance.

Luka may have a point, but that still doesn’t excuse Kingsley’s actions. He should have told us in the first place. Haven’t people learned by now with Harry that keeping secrets never end well? “You weren’t there Luka… you didn’t see how he looked when he told me that our own uncle betrayed our family and started killing off our kin.”

“Could you imagine turning on your own family like that? This is our grandfather and our parents that we’re talking about. He just slaughtered them because he wanted to get in Voldemort’s good favor and he did just that didn’t he? I mean he was able to lead quite a few of his supporters to hunt us down.” I tell my brother fighting against the stinging in my eyes.

Luka stays silent for a long time taking his glasses off to wipe the lenses clean. “Not everyone can be a good person Jamie. You should know that by now. A lot of the times bad things happen to good people for no reason. At least we know something important about our parents.” Luka tell me turning to face me.

“What’s that?” I ask fighting back the fresh batch of tears that want to break forth.

“We know that our parents were great people. How else would they have been able to fight off the Dark Lord and their own family? That must have taken guts and a whole lot of nobility. I think that we both understand how hard it is to go against family.” Luka tells me a hint of pride and steel to his voice.

I look at my brother in a new light. He’s not all about facts anymore. He’s becoming much more insightful. Where is the time going? We’re not young children anymore running around the house without a care in the world. The only monsters in the world were under the bed, and Kingsley dealt with the real criminals. Oh how much I would give for it to still be like it was back then.

“It still doesn’t make up for the fact that he didn’t tell us. I had to hear it from the memory of V-Voldemort! How in Merlin’s name is that better than just telling me face to face? We’re old enough to start handling the truth. The world isn’t a nice safe place to live in anymore. I don’t think that it ever was…” I trail off.

Luka gives me a long understanding look. “Come on Jame. Let’s go back inside. You’ve been out here for hours and you’re shivering. You won’t be much good to your friends or me if you’re dead from cold.” My brother says cajolingly. I glance back at the house, and see that the shadow from the window is gone.

“Fine.” I agree hesitantly. I wait for my brother to drop from the tree before I do the same. Once I’m on the ground and in easy reach, he wraps his arms around me tightly, and I bury my face into his chest allowing my angry and upset tears to break free. Luka runs his hand up and down my back while murmuring soft words to me.

“Its okay Jamie. Everything will work out okay. Just you wait and see. We’re not alone in this world, we’ll never be. We both have friends and people who care about us. I think Mrs. Weasley would have a word or two to say before anyone endangered our lives. And even if its hard to believe it at the moment we have Kingsley as well. We always have, and I think that we always will.” Luka explains.

I nod my head soundlessly, and keep my arms wrapped around him for a little while longer. Finally I pull away from him, but grab Luka’s hand before he can get too far away. I don’t want to be alone at the moment, and especially not if I have to go back into the house where our guardian is lurking about. When we get back inside I shuck off my coat and feel a shiver run through me.

“Do you want cocoa? I think that its just the thing that we need after a tiring time outside in crazily cold weather for this time of year.” Luka says cheerily his cheeks still tinged red like the tips of his ears along with his glasses being fogged. I chuckle at my brother’s over the top enthusiasm. Its been a while since I’ve seen him like this.

“Can I have marshmallows as well brother dear since it seems to be the season?” I ask following him into the kitchen. I stop abruptly almost running into my brother for he’s frozen looking at a note that is on the refrigerator in front of him. I peer a look over his shoulder to see what it says.

 

Dear kids,

 

I’m sorry that I will not be able to tell you this in person, but I got an emergency message from the Auror Department. There is a case in need of my immediate attention. I am sorry that I was not there to say goodbye. I feel awful considering how our summer has gone. The Weasley’s have returned from your trip and are to arrive tomorrow to pick you up in order to get your things for school.

You will stay with them for the little remaining time of the summer. Be good, and please if there is anything that you remember, it is that I do love you.

 

Always yours,

Kingsley

 

I turn away from the not sharply. That just seems to be a running theme around here nowadays. The two of us are always alone, we always have been and we always will. Some things will never change.

* * *

 

That night my brother and I were up in my room huddled on my bed. We both are nestled snuggly in blankets with chocolate frog wrappings around us. In between us is the Wizards chess set that Ron and Harry had got me last Christmas. I still can remember the giant life size pieces from when we were trying to get to and protect the Sorcerer’s Stone.

My brother and I have been sitting here playing chess for hours. I’m still not the greatest at this game, but Luka is rubbish at it. Its quite amusing actually that for a guy as smart as he is to not be able to play chess well is greatly amusing. My chess pieces don’t want to be played with by him so they’ve taken to quoting Shakespeare that Kingsley has around the house.

He’s interested in muggle literature but not to the point of obsession that Mr. Weasley has with all things muggle related. At the moment Luka’s King and Queen are quoting their death scene in Romeo and Juliet together. It is quite entertaining to say the least.

“Blast it all! I don’t understand how you can keep on moving your pieces that way! Its not fair its like you’re cheating!” Luka grumbles throwing his hands into the air and sporting a nice pout. I grin at him and send my knight to checkmate his king. Instead of throwing his crown down Romeo drops dead from drinking his poison. I take it as my sign of victory.

“Luka I might not be the smartest or the best at this game but I have learned under the master at this game and even I can come away with some new skills.” I say shooting a smirk his way. Luka rolls his eyes at me and falls back against the bed. Luka and I decided to have a sleepover in my room tonight after finding the letter from Kingsley.

Shortly after that we had gotten the evening post which featured a prominent article about a fairly frightening case. I glance over at the paper and shudder at the picture of the madman who has escaped and is now among us. I know that I shouldn’t be afraid for this house is invisible to all who don’t know about it but it is still a scary thought. I let my eyes roam back over the short article.

 

BLACK STILL AT LARGE

 

Sirius Black, possibly the most infamous prisoner ever to be held in Azkaban fortress, is still eluding capture, the Ministry of Magic confirmed today.

“We are doing all we can to recapture Black,” said the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, this morning, “and we beg the magical community to remain calm.”

Fudge has been criticized by some members of the International Federation of Warlocks for informing the Muggle Prime Minister of the crisis.

“Well, really, I had to, don’t you know,” said an irritable Fudge. “Black is mad. He’s a danger to anyone who crosses him, magic or Muggle. I have the Prime Minister’s assurance that he will not breathe a word of Black’s true identity to anyone. And let’s face it — who’d believe him if he did?”

While Muggles have been told that Black is carrying a gun (a kind of metal wand that Muggles use to kill each other), the magical community lives in fear of a massacre like that of twelve years ago, when Black murdered thirteen people with a single curse.

 

I can just tell that this is whom Kingsley is out trying to get now. I feel another shiver run down my spine and close my eyes tightly. Everything will be okay. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley will come to get us in the morning and then I will be back with people who care about me.

Not that Kingsley doesn’t, I think… oh bugger it all this is all too much to think about in one night. Luka and I pack up the chessboard and take all the bigger blankets that we can find in order to make a blanket fort, so that we can sleep under. Childish I know but sometimes you need the extra, added comfort that earlier better memories can provide. I fall into sleep that night with the uncomfortable sensation that the world has is starting to become a dangerous place again.

* * *

 

The next morning Luka and I wake up early despite our reluctance to wake at first light on a summer day still. We fumble about packing our trunks together while still half asleep. Suddenly there was a noise from downstairs and before either of us could get too up in arms about it the scolding voice of Mrs. Weasley floated upstairs.

“Oh Arthur! We’ve probably scared the children half to death! Why couldn’t you have just left that junk behind? This is not the time for another one of your muggle invention thingies!” Mrs. Weasley cries. I grin sleepily at my brother and we make our way down the steps and into our living room.

There stand Mr. Weasley looking rather sheepish with a large metal contraption on wheels and Mrs. Weasley with the beginning of steam coming out of her ears. They stop squabbling when they notice Luka and I standing there. “Oh Luka, Jamie dears!” Mrs. Weasley cries coming forward and throwing her arms around both of us tightly and squeezing us. Her grip is so tight that she shakes both of us back and forth in her arms.

“It is so good to see you.” She tells us setting us back on the ground.

“Yes, we hope you’ve had quite a good summer?” Mr. Weasley asks. Luka and I look at each other nervously, not exactly sure about what to tell them. This summer hasn’t quite been all that it was cracked up to be. We hadn’t even seen much of Ariana since the escape of Sirius Black.

“All right.” Luka says.

“Okay.” I mumble. The Weasleys pass looks between each other but are all smiles a second later.

“Well let’s get your trunks sorted out, so that we can get back to the children. I worry about what will happen if we leave them alone with just Percy for long enough… have you heard that Percy made Head Boy?” Mr. Weasley asks ushering us along and back up the stairs so that we can collect our trunks and be on our way.

Five minutes later both our trunks, Sophocles and Dionysus have been magicked away, and we’re getting ready to go by floo powder. “So to the Burrow then?” I ask taking a pinch of the powder in my hand.

“No Jamie dear we’re going to be staying in the Leaky Cauldron for a few days since school will be starting back up soon. No sense in having to make the long drive back to London that many times in a short while.” Mrs. Weasley tells me placing her hand on my back and smiling at me softly.

With a grin I step into the fireplace. “The Leaky Cauldron!” I cry and throw my powder down. With a whoosh of green flame and a twirling sensation the vision of the Weasleys, my brother, and my home vanish into blackness.

When I open my eyes again it’s to a familiar freckled face that I haven’t seen in far too long. “Hello there Jamie!” Ron cries catching me as I throw my arms around his shoulders. Can I just say that it’s good to be back?


	2. The Leaky Cauldron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except for Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

Chapter 2- The Leaky Cauldron

 

A great weight was taken off my shoulders when I saw Ron again. There was too much going on in my life back home, and being around the Weasleys made me feel like I was safe. The Mr. and Mrs. Weasley came back with my brother. The Leaky Cauldron was exactly how I remembered it, dim, dank, and home to some rather questionable company.

I was thrilled to be away from the house though; it had been a long time since we were able to do anything. My brother was green tinged again, so I dragged Ron a few feet away in case he blew. I still don’t know why they haven’t invented a spell yet to help those motion sick witches and wizards out there.

“How was Egypt? I’ve always wanted to go.” I ask Ron turning back to my friends who has seemed to shoot up another few inches so that he has around one or two on me.

“All right. Fred and George almost locked Percy in a pyramid! Boy was mum off her rocker when she found out! I’m sure that some of the red on their faces is not just from sunburn!” Ron tells me breaking out into a goofy smile. I grin at my friend, and bounce on my toes a little.

“Too bad your mum found out. Imagine how much more unbearable he’s going to be now when we go back to school. ‘Look at me I’m Mr. Prefect bow in front of the shininess of my badge’!” I mimic sending Ron into snickers.

“Its good to see you as well Jamie. I’m glad to see that you’re personality hasn’t been changed over the summer.” Percy Weasley says sneaking up on me from behind. I jump and give him a sheepish look as he turns his nose up at me and walks away from us.

“Yeah… he’s been like that all summer. Becoming a right arse if you ask me…” Ron says in a lower voice in order to avoid the attention of his mum who was coming over to us.

“Jamie dear, you will be rooming with Ginny while we’re here is that all right?” Mrs. Weasley asks coming over to us.

“That’s fine Mrs. Weasley that will give the two of us time to catch up.” I tell her smiling softly. Mrs. Weasley beams at me and trundles away to go and scold the red headed twins who were busy conning Willy into giving them some fire whiskey.

“Have you heard from Harry?” I ask Ron pulling him further away and closer to the door that goes out back to Diagon Alley.

“No, but Dad heard from the ministry that Harry ran away from home and that he is staying here now in the Leaky Cauldron, another one of the reasons why Mum and Dad are letting us stay here instead of going back home.” Ron explains. I raise my eyebrow hearing that Harry had run away from his home.

“Really? Why did he run? Knowing Harry he must have done something or someone must have done something to him.” I say shaking my head. I rub my forehead trying to fend off the impending headache that I feel coming on.

“I think he blew up his aunt or something…” Ron says trailing off. I snort covering up the laugh that wants to break through.

“Seriously you two, I don’t understand why you think that breaking rules and hurting others is so hilarious!” An exasperated voice says from behind us. I spin around as a huge grin appears on Ron’s face.

“Hermione!” Ron cries.

“Mione!” I cry racing forward and embracing my very tan friend. Hermione squeezes me back tightly then releases me to face Ron. He still has that giant dopey grin on his face and I shake my head. No not Ron as well! He probably doesn’t even realize that he likes her! They both advance as like they were going to hug, but at the last moment they do some awkward shifting and end up embracing hands instead.

“Good to see you again ‘Mione.” Ron tells her shakily.

“Yes it is lovely to see you as well Ronald.” Hermione replies. I groan and put my head in my hands.

“Ronald seriously?” I whine. Hermione shoots me a glare and I stick my tongue right back out at me.

“I’m going to go ask Mum if we can go and find Harry. He has to be around here somewhere. I already checked when we first came here.” Ron says wandering back over to the hoard of Weasleys and Luka that have taken over one side of the dining room.

“So how was your trip? I saw some of the pictures but it must have been so exciting.” I tell Hermione leading her closer to the exit so that we can hear each other over the increasing volume of the people in the bar.

“It was wonderful Jamie. Oh we must go back sometime. The French wizarding culture there is so much more refined then it is here. I hear that the girls who attend Beauxbatons Academy there are the best in their class!” Hermione squeals. I smile indulgently at my friend, as she rambles on about how fabulous her time in France was and how Hogwarts could take a few lessons.

Ron comes running back to us in a puff with an excited look on her face. “We can go! Let’s get out of here before we’re stuck looking over the family trip photos for a third time. I swear mum is prouder of a few out of focus photos rather than the fact that we could afford to go to Egypt.” Ron tells us grabbing Hermione and me by the arm and leading us out the back door.

I take out my wand and tap the bricks on the back wall, and with a rumble the wall breaks apart and the entranceway to Diagon Alley is revealed. I can’t help the grin that comes to my face. No matter how many times I see this place I can never get over how incredibly cool that this street is.

Witches and wizards stream in and out of the oddly colored and widely specialized shops. So we come up with a plan in order to try and find out where Harry is around here. After a few shops, we decide to take a rest outside of Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor.

“This is hopeless he could be anywhere around here!” I cry pouting only just a little. It’s not my fault that I really want to see my best friend. It’s just that I haven’t seen him in so long! Finally the crowd parts and a familiar head of unruly black hair comes into view.

“Harry! HARRY!” Ron shouts gleefully. I push away from my seat, and run out into the street throwing myself into the arms of my best friend, tackling him down to the ground. We’re both a mess of limbs but I could care less. It really has been too long since I’ve seen him. It’s really good to have all of my friends back together!

“J-Jamie… can’t… breathe…” Harry wheezes from underneath me. With a blush and a rather nervous giggle I allow Harry to get up from the ground.

“Sorry Harry, it’s just really good to see you.” I tell him. Harry grins at me, and gives me a gentle hug in return.

“S’fine Jamie its good to see you as well. I’ve missed you.” Harry tells me with a smile. I grin back at my friend and lead him back over to Ron and Hermione who hug him in hello as well.

“Finally!” says Ron, grinning at Harry as he sits down. “We went to the Leaky Cauldron, but they said you’d left, and we went to Flourish and Blotts, and Madam Malkin’s, and —”

“I got all my school stuff last week,” Harry explains. “And how come you knew I’m staying at the Leaky Cauldron?”

“Dad,” says Ron simply.

“Did you really blow up your aunt, Harry?” says Hermione in a very serious voice.

“Yeah come on boy wonder did you really? Why can’t I be there for all the fun stuff?” I pout sliding into a seat next to Harry.

“I didn’t mean to,” cries Harry, while Ron roars with laughter. “I just — lost control.”

“Harry I lost control when I got so mad at Luka when he stole my doll that I turned his hair pink. Blowing your aunt up is a whole other level mate.” I tell him with a snicker.

“It’s not funny, Ron,” snaps Hermione sharply. “Honestly, I’m amazed Harry wasn’t expelled.”

“So am I,” admits Harry. “Forget expelled, I thought I was going to be arrested.” He looks at Ron. “Your dad doesn’t know why Fudge let me off, does he?”

“Probably ’cause it’s you, isn’t it?” shrugs Ron, still chuckling. “Famous Harry Potter and all that. I’d hate to see what the Ministry’d do to me if I blew up an aunt. Mind you, they’d have to dig me up first, because Mum would’ve killed me. Anyway, you can ask Dad yourself this evening. We’re staying at the Leaky Cauldron tonight too! Jamie and Luka are staying with us. So you can come to King’s Cross with us tomorrow! Hermione’s there as well!”

Hermione nods, beaming. “Mum and Dad dropped me off this morning with all my Hogwarts things.”

“Excellent!” says Harry happily. “So, have you got all your new books and stuff?”

“Yep earlier this summer as soon as we got the list Kingsley took us shopping. I think that he wanted to get us out of the house. Not much of the vacation having this summer.” I trail off lost in momentarily unhappy thoughts.

“Look at this,” grins Ron, pulling a long thin box out of a bag and opening it. “Brand-new wand. Fourteen inches, willow, containing one unicorn tail-hair. And we’ve got all our books —” He points at a large bag under his chair. “What about those Monster Books, eh? The assistant nearly cried when we said we wanted two.”

“What’s all that, Hermione?” Harry asks, pointing at not one but three bulging bags in the chair next to her.

“Hermione wanted to buy all of Flourish and Blotts but they didn’t have a bag big enough for her to take all the books with her, so she had to settle on only a few.” I interrupt before Hermione can answer. She pinches me in the arm, and glares at Harry and Ron who are laughing.

“Well, I’m taking more new subjects than you, aren’t I?” says Hermione huffily. “Those are my books for Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, Divination, Study of Ancient Runes, Muggle Studies —”

“What are you doing Muggle Studies for?” cries Ron, rolling his eyes at Harry. “You’re Muggle-born! Your mum and dad are Muggles! You already know all about Muggles!”

“But it’ll be fascinating to study them from the Wizarding point of view,” argues Hermione earnestly. I chuckle at her while shaking my head. The class did sound interesting, but I can learn all I would want to know about muggles from Harry and Hermione, why bother taking a class about it, there’s fewer tests with friends.

“Are you planning to eat or sleep at all this year, Hermione?” asks Harry, while Ron and I snigger. Hermione ignores all of us.

“I’ve still got ten Galleons,” she says, checking her purse. “It’s my birthday in September, and Mum and Dad gave me some money to get myself an early birthday present.”

“How about a nice book?” says Ron innocently. I high five him discretely underneath the table.

“No, I don’t think so,” says Hermione composedly. “I really want an owl. I mean, Harry’s got Hedwig, Jamie’s got Dionysus, and you’ve got Errol —”

“I haven’t,” says Ron. “Errol’s a family owl. All I’ve got is Scabbers.” He pulls his pet rat out of his pocket. “And I want to get him checked over,” he adds, placing Scabbers on the table in front of us. “I don’t think Egypt agreed with him.”

Scabbers is looking thinner than usual, and there is a definite droop to his whiskers.

I eye the rat rather uncomfortably. I don’t know how Harry and Ron can sleep with that thing in their room. Mice are one thing, they’re small and cute, but rats are ugly as a toad.

“There’s a magical creature shop just over there,” says Harry, who knows Diagon Alley very well by now. “You could see if they’ve got anything for Scabbers, and Hermione can get her owl.”

So we pay for their ice cream and cross the street to the Magical Menagerie. There isn’t much room inside. Every inch of wall is hidden by cages. It is smelly and very noisy because the occupants of these cages are all squeaking, squawking, jabbering, or hissing. The witch behind the counter is already advising a wizard on the care of double-ended newts, so Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I wait, examining the cages.

A pair of enormous purple toads sit gulping wetly and feasting on dead blowflies. A gigantic tortoise with a jewel-encrusted shell is glittering near the window. Poisonous orange snails are oozing slowly up the side of their glass tank, and a fat white rabbit keeps changing into a silk top hat and back again with a loud popping noise. Then there are cats of every color, a noisy cage of ravens, a basket of funny custard-colored furballs that are humming loudly, and on the counter, a vast cage of sleek black rats that are playing some sort of skipping game using their long, bald tails.

I take a step closer to the cats because they are purring at me nicely, and its been a while since I’ve last been in a magical pet shop. Last time that I was here I was getting Dionysus and Luka was getting Sophocles.

The double-ended newt wizard leaves, and Ron approaches the counter.

“It’s my rat,” he tells the witch. “He’s been a bit off-color ever since I brought him back from Egypt.”

“Bang him on the counter,” says the witch, pulling a pair of heavy black spectacles out of her pocket. Ron lifts Scabbers out of his inside pocket and places him next to the cage of his fellow rats, who stop their skipping tricks and scuffle to the wire for a better look.

Like nearly everything Ron owns, Scabbers the rat is second-hand (he had once belonged to Ron’s brother Percy) and a bit battered. Next to the glossy rats in the cage, he looks especially woebegone.

“Hm,” says the witch, picking up Scabbers. “How old is this rat?”

“Dunno,” explains Ron. “Quite old. He used to belong to my brother.”

“What powers does he have?” asks the witch, examining Scabbers closely.

“Er —” The truth is that Scabbers has never shown the faintest trace of interesting powers. The witch’s eyes move from Scabbers’s tattered left ear to his front paw, which has a toe missing, and tutts loudly.

“He’s been through the mill, this one,” she says.

“He was like that when Percy gave him to me,” says Ron defensively.

“An ordinary common or garden rat like this can’t be expected to live longer than three years or so,” deliberates the witch. “Now, if you were looking for something a bit more hard-wearing, you might like one of these —”

She indicates the black rats, who promptly start skipping again.

“They are rather talented.” I mutter to Harry who nods as well.

Ron mutters, “Show-offs.”

“Well, if you don’t want a replacement, you can try this rat tonic,” says the witch, reaching under the counter and bringing out a small red bottle.

“Okay,” says Ron. “How much — OUCH!” Ron buckles as something huge and orange comes soaring from the top of the highest cage, lands on his head, and then propels itself, spitting madly, at Scabbers.

“NO, CROOKSHANKS, NO!” cries the witch, but Scabbers shoots from between her hands like a bar of soap, lands splay-legged on the floor, and then scampers for the door.

“Scabbers!” Ron shouts, racing out of the shop after him; Harry follows.

It takes us nearly ten minutes to catch Scabbers, who has taken refuge under a wastepaper bin outside Quality Quidditch Supplies. Ron stuffs the trembling rat back into his pocket and straightens up, massaging his head.

“What was that?” He grumbles crossly.

“It was either a very big cat or quite a small tiger,” says Harry. I chuckle and shake my head.

“I think that there’s such a thing nowadays called a liger?” I say much to the displeasure of Ron.

“Where’s Hermione?” Ron asks

“Probably getting her owl —” Harry responds.

We make our way back up the crowded street to the Magical Menagerie. As we reach it, Hermione comes out, but she isn’t carrying an owl. Her arms are clamped tightly around the enormous ginger cat.

“That is a really funny looking owl.” I comment.

“You bought that monster?” cries Ron, his mouth hanging open.

“He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?” says Hermione, glowing.

That is a matter of opinion. The cat’s ginger fur is thick and fluffy, but it is definitely a bit bowlegged and its face looks grumpy and oddly squashed, as though it has run headlong into a brick wall. Now that Scabbers is out of sight, however, the cat is purring contentedly in Hermione’s arms.

“Hermione, that thing nearly scalped me!” spits Ron.

“He didn’t mean to, did you, Crookshanks?” says Hermione.

“And what about Scabbers?” rants Ron, pointing at the lump in his chest pocket. “He needs rest and relaxation! How’s he going to get it with that thing around?”

“That reminds me, you forgot your rat tonic,” Hermione says crossly, slapping the small red bottle into Ron’s hand. “And stop worrying, Crookshanks will be sleeping in my dormitory and Scabbers in yours, what’s the problem? Poor Crookshanks, that witch said he’d been in there for ages; no one wanted him.”

“I wonder why,” says Ron sarcastically as we set off toward the Leaky Cauldron.

“Great now I get to room with the furry tiger.” I grumble, and Harry bursts out laughing beside me.

“Don’t worry Jamie if all else fails you can always try and transfigure it into a button.” Harry chuckles at me. I stick out my tongue at him like all mature people would do. I walk away from Harry leaving his chuckles behind me.

We find Mr. Weasley sitting in the bar, reading the Daily Prophet.

“Harry!” he says, smiling as he looks up. “How are you?”

“Fine, thanks,” replies Harry as he, Ron, Hermione, and I join Mr. Weasley with all our shopping.

Mr. Weasley puts down his paper, and we see the now-familiar picture of Sirius Black staring up at us.

“They still haven’t caught him, then?” Harry asks.

“No,” says Mr. Weasley, looking extremely grave. “They’ve pulled us all off our regular jobs at the Ministry to try and find him, but no luck so far.”

“Not even Kingsley has managed to find him yet.” I say mostly to myself.

“Would we get a reward if we caught him?” asks Ron. “It’d be good to get some more money —”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ron,” says Mr. Weasley, who on closer inspection looks very strained. “Black’s not going to be caught by a thirteen-year-old wizard. It’s the Azkaban guards who’ll get him back, you mark my words.”

At that moment Mrs. Weasley enters the bar, laden with shopping bags and followed by the twins, Fred and George, who are about to start their fifth year at Hogwarts; the newly elected Head Boy, Percy; and the Weasleys’ youngest child and only girl, Ginny. Luka trails along behind them.

Ginny, who has always been very taken with Harry, seems even more heartily embarrassed than usual when she sees him, perhaps because he had saved her life during their previous year at Hogwarts. She goes very red and mutters “Hello” without looking at Harry. Percy, however, holds out his hand solemnly as though he and Harry have never met and says, “Harry. How nice to see you.”

“Hello, Percy,” says Harry, trying not to laugh. I roll my eyes at the exchange. No one has elected him ruler of the world yet, so he can get down off his high horse.

“I hope you’re well?” says Percy pompously, shaking hands. It is like watching someone being introduced to the mayor.

“Very well, thanks —” Harry starts to reply.

“Harry!” says Fred, elbowing Percy out of the way and bowing deeply. “Simply splendid to see you, old boy —”

“Marvelous,” says George, pushing Fred aside and seizing Harry’s hand in turn. “Absolutely spiffing.”

Percy scowls at them. “That’s enough, now,” says Mrs. Weasley. The twins turn to me with their mischievous grins in place.

“Why Lady Jamie it has been far too long since we’ve last met. I’m positively looking forward to having another smashing year with you.” George tells me pretending to kiss my hand.

“Why yes indeed Lady Jamie Hogwarts would simply not be the same without you.” Fred finishes mimicking a kiss as well. I chuckle at the boys with a grin.

“Alas I have missed you as well gents. My life has just not been complete without the pair of you!” I say in a fake grandiose manner. Both the twins’ grins get even bigger at that.

“Hello, Harry, dear. I suppose you’ve heard our exciting news?” She points to the brand-new silver badge on Percy’s chest. “Second Head Boy in the family!” she cries, swelling with pride.

“And last,” Fred mutters under his breath.

“I don’t doubt that,” says Mrs. Weasley, frowning suddenly. “I notice they haven’t made you two prefects.”

“What do we want to be prefects for?” replies George, looking revolted at the very idea. “It’d take all the fun out of life.” Ginny giggles at that comment.

“You want to set a better example for your sister!” snaps Mrs. Weasley.

“Ginny’s got other brothers to set her an example, Mother,” says Percy loftily. “I’m going up to change for dinner. . . .”

He disappears and George heaves a sigh. “We tried to shut him in a pyramid,” he tells us. “But Mum spotted us.”

* * *

 

Dinner that night is a very enjoyable affair. Tom the innkeeper put three tables together in the parlor, and the seven Weasleys, Harry, Hermione, Luka, and I eat our way through five delicious courses.

“How’re we getting to King’s Cross tomorrow, Dad?” asks Fred as we dig into a sumptuous chocolate pudding.

“The Ministry’s providing a couple of cars,” says Mr. Weasley. Everyone looks up at him. Thank god, no new flying car possessed by a demon spirit.

“Why?” asks Percy curiously.

“It’s because of you, Perce,” says George seriously. “And there’ll be little flags on the hoods, with HB on them —”

“— for Humongous Bighead,” finishes Fred. I can’t help my snort of laughter. Everyone except Percy and Mrs. Weasley snort into their pudding as well.

“Why are the Ministry providing cars, Father?” Percy asks again, in a dignified voice.

“Well, as we haven’t got one anymore,” says Mr. Weasley, “— and as I work there, they’re doing me a favor —” There’s something that’s not quite right there. Mr. Weasley looks like he’s lying to us, but why would he be lying?

“Good thing, too,” says Mrs. Weasley briskly. “Do you realize how much luggage you’ve all got between you? A nice sight you’d be on the Muggle Underground. . . . You are all packed, aren’t you?”

“Ron hasn’t put all his new things in his trunk yet,” says Percy, in a long-suffering voice. “He’s dumped them on my bed.”

“You’d better go and pack properly, Ron, because we won’t have much time in the morning,” Mrs. Weasley calls down the table. Ron scowls at Percy.

After dinner everyone felt very full and sleepy. One by one they make their way upstairs to their rooms to check their things for the next day. I was rooming with Ginny and we were talking quietly about all the things that we were going to get to do at Hogwarts this year.

I can’t wait to go on the trips to Hogsmeade. Kingsley signed our permission slips so we’ll be able to leave castle grounds finally to the village below. Ginny is still rather afraid about going back to the castle. I don’t blame her one bit since I’d be scared if I was in her position. I remind her that she won’t be all alone though, for she could easily come and get Hermione and me at night.

That seemed to reassure her. Ginny has fallen off to sleep when I hear a noise from across the hall. I tiptoe out of the room as so not to wake Ginny when I run into Harry. The door to number 12 is open and I can hear Percy shouting from within. “What’s going on in there? Did Percy finally snap and murder someone?” I ask her warily. Harry gives me a ghost of a smile as we creep our way closer to the door.

“It was here, on the bedside table, I took it off for polishing —” Percy yells.

“I haven’t touched it, all right?” Ron roars back.

“What’s up?” says Harry. I peek out from behind him.

“My Head Boy badge is gone,” says Percy, rounding on Harry.

“So’s Scabbers’s rat tonic,” says Ron, throwing things out of his trunk to look. “I think I might’ve left it in the bar —”

“You’re not going anywhere till you’ve found my badge!” shouts Percy.

“I’ll get Scabbers’s stuff, I’m packed,” Harry says to Ron. I quickly follow Harry down the stairs.

“I’m coming with, all done with packing as well.” I tell Harry defensively when he gives me a look.

Harry and I were halfway along the passage to the bar, which is now very dark, when we hear another pair of angry voices coming from the parlor. A second later, I recognize them as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley’s. We hesitate, not wanting them to know we’d heard them arguing, when the sound of Harry’s name make us stop, then move closer to the parlor door.

“. . . makes no sense not to tell him,” Mr. Weasley is saying heatedly. “Harry’s got a right to know. I’ve tried to tell Fudge, but he insists on treating Harry like a child. He’s thirteen years old and —”

I grip onto Harry’s hand tightly. Why are the Weasleys talking about Harry like this?

“Arthur, the truth would terrify him!” says Mrs. Weasley shrilly. “Do you really want to send Harry back to school with that hanging over him? For heaven’s sake, he’s happy not knowing!”

“I don’t want to make him miserable, I want to put him on his guard!” retorts Mr. Weasley. “You know what Harry, Ron, and Jamie are like, wandering off by themselves — they’ve even ended up in the Forbidden Forest! But Harry mustn’t do that this year! When I think what could have happened to him that night he ran away from home! If the Knight Bus hadn’t picked him up, I’m prepared to bet he would have been dead before the Ministry found him.”

I stifle a gasp and move closer to Harry needing to be reassured that my friend is actually with me and all right. I can feel Harry trembling beside me.

“But he’s not dead, he’s fine, so what’s the point —”

“Molly, they say Sirius Black’s mad, and maybe he is, but he was clever enough to escape from Azkaban, and that’s supposed to be impossible. It’s been a month, and no one’s seen hide nor hair of him, and I don’t care what Fudge keeps telling the Daily Prophet, we’re no nearer catching Black than inventing self-spelling wands. The only thing we know for sure is what Black’s after —”

“But Harry will be perfectly safe at Hogwarts.” Mrs. Weasley counters.

“We thought Azkaban was perfectly safe. If Black can break out of Azkaban, he can break into Hogwarts.” Mr. Weasley says.

“But no one’s really sure that Black’s after Harry —”

There is a thud on wood and I jump. I’m sure that was Mr. Weasley banging his fist on the table.

“Molly, how many times do I have to tell you? They didn’t report it in the press because Fudge wanted it kept quiet, but Fudge went out to Azkaban the night Black escaped. The guards told Fudge that Black’s been talking in his sleep for a while now. Always the same words: ‘He’s at Hogwarts . . . he’s at Hogwarts.’ Black is deranged, Molly, and he wants Harry dead. If you ask me, he thinks murdering Harry will bring You-Know-Who back to power. Black lost everything the night Harry stopped You-Know-Who, and he’s had twelve years alone in Azkaban to brood on that. . . .”

No not Harry! I won’t let some murdering psychopath take my best friend from me, not after I’ve only just got him back! Harry squeezes my hand again to reassure me that he’s still there and all right for the time being.

“Well, Arthur, you must do what you think is right. But you’re forgetting Albus Dumbledore. I don’t think anything could hurt Harry at Hogwarts while Dumbledore’s headmaster. I suppose he knows about all this?” Mrs. Weasley says.

“Of course he knows. We had to ask him if he minds the Azkaban guards stationing themselves around the entrances to the school grounds. He wasn’t happy about it, but he agreed.” Mr. Weasley explains.

“Not happy? Why shouldn’t he be happy, if they’re there to catch Black?” She asks.

“Dumbledore isn’t fond of the Azkaban guards,” says Mr. Weasley heavily. “Nor am I, if it comes to that . . . but when you’re dealing with a wizard like Black, you sometimes have to join forces with those you’d rather avoid.”

“If they save Harry —” Mrs. Weasley starts.

“— then I will never say another word against them,” says Mr. Weasley wearily. “It’s late, Molly, we’d better go up. . . .”

We hear chairs move. As quietly as we can, we hurry down the passage to the bar and out of sight. The parlor door opens, and a few seconds later footsteps tell us that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are climbing the stairs. I let out a shaky breath that I didn’t know that I had been holding.

“Harry…” I start unsure about what I want to say.

“Not now Jamie.” Harry tells me brusquely. I push down the hurt that ebbs up by his tone.

The bottle of rat tonic was lying under the table we had sat at earlier. Before my anger at Harry can grow too much, he reaches out for my hand again with a weak smile. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow Jamie.” Harry says softly. I give him a small smile back and take his hand. We wait until we hear Mr. and Mrs. Weasley’s bedroom door close, then head back upstairs with the bottle.

Fred and George are crouching in the shadows on the landing, heaving with laughter as they listen to Percy dismantling his and Ron’s room in search of his badge.

“We’ve got it,” Fred whispers to us. “We’ve been improving it.” The badge now reads Bighead Boy. Harry forces a laugh, and I chuckle at them. We say goodnight, and I give Harry a long look, but he ignores it and turns back into his room. I let a sigh go and shake my head, while creeping back into my darkly lit room.

As I lay down on my bed staring at the darkened ceiling, I think about all that I had overheard the Weasleys talking about. So Sirius Black was out to get Harry. Well that’s tough for him because I’m not letting go of him without a fight, escaped mass murderer or not. It’s with that final determined thought, that I slip off to sleep, where dark gruesome dreams await me.


	3. The Dementor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

Chapter 3- The Dementor

 

The light is dim in the passageway that I sneak down. I don’t remember how I ended up here. The stones beneath my feet radiate coldness as if they were underneath a thick sheet of ice for a long time. My breath comes out as smoke in front of me, and my hands are shaking from the frigid air.

On either side of me there are wrought iron bars covering holes in the wall. Dirty, unwashed, and underfed people reside behind those bars sitting listlessly on the mats on the floor that are supposed to be their beds. Some of the prisoners jeer at me as I pass by. I want to flinch away from them, to turn around and exit the fresh hell that I seem to be in.

I can’t though. Its like there is some unseen force that is pulling me further down the dank stone corridor onto a path that I may never be able to get off of. The corridor is ending, and I find myself standing in front of the last cell in the block. It is too dim in order to clearly see into the cell. There is a foul sort of smell emanating from it like all the others, unwashed bodies and rotten food.

I grip my hands into fists to try and control the shaking that has gotten ahold of them. This is not happening to me. I am only dreaming. I will wake up and find myself back in bed, late in getting up for breakfast. Mrs. Weasley will scold me, but then be all kind and worrisome when she figures out that I’ve had a nightmare. Then she’ll make everything better.

I’m almost able to delude myself into thinking that way but for the fact that I’m not waking up, I’m unable to keep my happy thoughts. I’m disturbed from my frantic thinking by a rasping croak that I’m pretty sure is supposed to be a laugh. I startle and jump a little. I can hear a slow shuffling noise coming out of the darkness that is in front of me.

Suddenly there is the looming shape of a man coming forward. A few seconds later he is close enough to the light in order for me to make him out more clearly. I can assume that he is a tall man for even though he’s hunched over, he is still taller than me. He is wearing threadbare prison regulation rags. For the first time since getting here it strikes me that this must be Azkeban.

His frame is rather withered, but there is still enough bulk on him, that I can tell that he was once a rather intimidating man. Very long dark sandy hair hangs from his head. His hair shines in the light from the amount of grease it has accumulated. Another throaty rasp comes from him.

“I should have known that Black would have been serious. I should have prepared myself for him to escape. He’s not the only one with unresolved issues…” The man wheezes, his throat raw from disuse. Suddenly his head shoots up violently from it’s hung position.

Fierce familiar dark blue eyes meet mine. There’s a tinge of hysteria, and psychosis in them. “Daniel’s brats are still out there.” He snarls. I jump back in shock mind reeling, trying to get away from him as fast as I possibly can.

“I can still feel that they’re alive…”

* * *

 

I awake gasping in a cold sweat in bed in the room that I’m sharing with Ginny in the Leaky Cauldron. I’m not in the cold corridor; I’m not in Azkeban. I’m safe, he’s not really here, and I didn’t really see Augustus. I heave a breath of relief and sag back against the pillow.

Today is supposed to be a good day. Today I get on the Hogwarts Express and make my way back to school. I’m going to be safe; I’m going back where I belong. My heartbeat is slowing, and the panic that had gripped me is fading. I slip from my bed and head to the bathroom so that I can take my shower before anyone else is up.

When done, I change into my clothes for the day and slip out into the hall in order to not wake up Ginny. There’s no need in having two sleep-deprived kids on the trip today. Once I’m out on the landing I hear activity going on around me. It seems like the rest of the Weasley’s are up and getting prepared for the day.

I run into Percy who still looks thunderous, and I allow him to step aside me in order to get to Harry’s room although I do not know why he is going there. Percy ended up yelling at Fred and George who were in Harry’s room congratulating Ron on infuriating Percy once again. I couldn’t help but chuckle at all the chaos that had been caused this early in the morning. Harry and Ron emerge from the room finally.

“Morning.” I greet them somberly trying to gauge Harry’s mood and whether Ron knows anything about what happened last night. Ron has this puzzled dopey look on his face and Harry looks annoyed so I’m guessing that he hasn’t had a chance to spill the beans, and he’s annoyed for Harry wants to talk about it.

“Morning Jamie.” Ron mutters trudging down the steps ahead of us.

“Did you sleep all right Jamie?” Harry asks me worriedly. I jump startled at the question.

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one asking you that?” I question giggling nervously. Harry gives me a serious look and I know that he means business.

“I’m fine Harry. It’s not the first night that I’ve had trouble sleeping. How about you? Your night couldn’t have been that good either.” I tell him. Harry sighs and shakes his head at me.

“I’ve definitely had better. We’re going to have to talk about it with the others on the train. But come on no need to worry everyone else quite yet. Besides, I’m starved and if we’re not careful I’m sure that Ron and the twins will eat all the food before we have the chance to get any.” Harry tells me with a genuine smile.

That makes me smile as well so I follow him the rest of the way down the stairs, and into the bar where everyone else is gathering. Mr. Weasley is reading the front page of the Daily Prophet with a furrowed brow and Mrs. Weasley is telling Hermione and Ginny about a love potion she’d made as a young girl. All three of them are rather giggly.

We slip into spots on either side of Ron who is still looking rather grumpy. Luka is opposite me, and he shoots me a concerned look with a raised eyebrow in question. He knows me well enough to be able to tell when I’ve had bad nights. I shake my head at him slightly letting him know that I don’t want to talk about it.

After breakfast its total chaos while getting ready to leave, are are too busy heaving all our trunks down the Leaky Cauldron’s narrow staircase and piling them up near the door, with Hedwig, Dionysus, and Hermes, Percy’s screech owl, perched on top in their cages. Two small wickerwork basket stand beside the heap of trunks, one of them spitting loudly.

“It’s all right, Crookshanks,” Hermione coos through the wickerwork. “I’ll let you out on the train.”

“You won’t,” snaps Ron. “What about poor Scabbers, eh?” He points at his chest, where a large lump indicates that Scabbers is curled up in his pocket.

Mr. Weasley, who has been outside waiting for the Ministry cars, sticks his head inside.

“They’re here,” he announces. “Harry, come on.” I roll my eyes at the ground. For someone who is trying to make it look like there is nothing wrong, Mr. Weasley sure is going about it was wrong way. He’s jumpier than a nervous rabbit.

Hermione, Ron, and I follow along behind the pair not wanting to get lost. Mr. Weasley quickly shuffles Harry into the backseat of one of the two dark green cars, with a man dressed in a suit that could only be an agent standing in front of it. We’re hustled in along behind Harry so that it’s the four of us, and much to Ron’s dismay Percy as well.

Great that means that we’ll have to play nice for a little longer with mister Big Head himself. The trip itself is rather boring, the four of us talk about nothing really in hushed voices for we know that Percy is listening in on our conversations. Doesn’t he know that eavesdropping is rude?

We reach King’s Cross with twenty minutes to spare; the Ministry drivers find us trolleys, unload our trunks, touch their hats in salute to Mr. Weasley, and drive away, somehow managing to jump to the head of an unmoving line at the traffic lights.

Mr. Weasley keeps close to Harry’s elbow all the way into the station. “Right then,” he says, glancing around them. “Let’s do this in pairs, as there are so many of us. I’ll go through first with Harry.” I watch as Harry gives him a steely stare that Mr. Weasley just doesn’t catch. I don’t think that Harry’s enjoying the Harry sitting that he’s receiving. As soon as they’re through, Luka and I go through the barrier with our trolleys.

After us comes Percy and Ginny who are panting like they had taken the barrier at a run as well. “Ah, there’s Penelope!” says Percy, smoothing his hair and going pink again. Ginny catches our eyes, and we all turn away to hide our laughter as Percy strides over to a girl with long, curly hair, walking with his chest thrown out so that she can’t miss his shiny badge.

Once the remaining Weasleys and Hermione have joined us, Harry and Ron lead the way to the end of the train, past packed compartments, to a carriage that looks quite empty. We load the trunks onto it, stowing Hedwig, Dionysus, and Crookshanks in the luggage rack, then go back outside to say good-bye to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

Mrs. Weasley is in full on teary goodbye mode. Percy allows her to give him a kiss to his cheek, and she thoroughly embarrasses Fred and George by trapping them in a hug and kissing them as well. Ron grumbles and wipes off the kiss that he received, and then she goes on to kiss Hermione and Luka as well.

My brother has a pink tinge to his cheek as he raises his hand to the place where she kissed him. There’s a sort of bewilderment about him. “Jamie promise me that you’ll try and stay out of trouble this year. Oh, who am I kidding! But… you do know that the offer still stands though dearie. I may not be your mum but you can always come to me if you need to.” Mrs. Weasley tells me softly cupping my face in her hands.

From the way that she’s looking at me I know that she can tell that there’s a lot going on in my head and that a lot of it isn’t good. I feel the sting of tears behind my eyelids, but I push it away. Now is not the time to breakdown. “I know Mrs. Weasley and thank you.” I tell her with a wavering voice.

“Good now don’t be a stranger while at school, write me sometime it will be a welcome distraction from chores. And Jamie, if you don’t write me, I will write you and remember, I’m not afraid to use howlers!” Mrs. Weasley tells me with a stern smile on her face. I immediately blush remembering Ron’s howler last year.

“I promise Mrs. Weasley!” I tell her hurriedly, accepting her kiss on my cheek. It feels weird where she kissed me but nice at the same time. I have never really had that growing up. Kingsley was never the really affectionate person. Now I know why my brother looked so put out earlier. Thankfully Mrs. Weasley has turned onto Harry who has just come back from talking with Mr. Weasley.

The train sounds a brief whistle, and all of us kids hurry on board so that we don’t miss our ride this year. We run to the compartment, and Ron throws our window open so that we can wave goodbye to the redheaded couple standing on the platform. Mrs. Weasley has started crying by now. Once they’ve disappeared out of sight, we sigh.

“Well I’ll see you late Jamie, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny. I’m going to go to my compartment. Michael got this really cool transfiguration book over the summer and I want to see what he’s been writing about all summer. See you at the castle!” Luka says turning, and bidding us farewell.

“I need to talk to you in private,” Harry mutters to Ron, Hermione, and me as the train picked up speed.

“Go away, Ginny,” says Ron.

“Oh, that’s nice,” says Ginny huffily, and she stalks off. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I set off down the corridor, looking for an empty compartment, but all are full except for the one at the very end of the train.

This has only one occupant, a man sitting fast asleep next to the window. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I check on the threshold. The Hogwarts Express is usually reserved for students and we have never seen an adult there before, except for the witch who pushes the food cart.

The stranger is wearing an extremely shabby set of wizard’s robes that have been darned in several places. He looks ill and exhausted. Though quite young, his light brown hair is flecked with gray.

“Who d’you reckon he is?” Ron hisses as we sit down and slide the door shut, taking the seats farthest away from the window.

“Professor R. J. Lupin,” whispers Hermione at once.

“How d’you know that?” Harry asks.

“It’s on his case,” she replies, pointing at the luggage rack over the man’s head, where there is a small, battered case held together with a large quantity of neatly knotted string. The name Professor R. J. Lupin is stamped across one corner in peeling letters.

“Wonder what he teaches?” says Ron, frowning at Professor Lupin’s pallid profile.

“Come on Ron I know that school hasn’t started up yet, but even Malfoy could get this one. There’s only one post that’s been open at Hogwarts in which to teach! Defense Against the Dark Arts.” I tells him rolling my eyes. Ron sticks his tongue out at me in response.

I’m about to retaliate but Hermione gives me this looks that tells me that I better act my age. “Well, I hope he’s up to it,” says Ron doubtfully. “He looks like one good hex would finish him off, doesn’t he? Anyway . . .” He turns to Harry. “What were you going to tell us?”

Harry explains all about Mr. and Mrs. Weasley’s argument and the warning Mr. Weasley had just given him. When he’s finished, Ron looks thunderstruck, and Hermione has her hands over her mouth. She finally lowers them to say, “Sirius Black escaped to come after you? Oh, Harry . . . you’ll have to be really, really careful. Don’t go looking for trouble, Harry —”

“I don’t go looking for trouble,” says Harry, nettled. “Trouble usually finds me.”

“That’s for sure.” I mutter, and Harry hits me on the arm for that.

“How thick would Harry have to be, to go looking for a nutter who wants to kill him?” demands Ron shakily.

“I think stuck in the psych ward in St. Mungo’s would be nutter enough.” I quip unhelpfully but I can’t help it. I make jokes when I’m really nervous about something.

“No one knows how he got out of Azkaban,” I say uncomfortably. “No one’s ever done it before. And he was a top-security prisoner too.”

“But they’ll catch him, won’t they?” says Hermione earnestly. “I mean, they’ve got all the Muggles looking out for him too. . . .”

“I don’t know the aurors have been looking for him for a while and haven’t found him yet.” I say morosely.

“Helpful Jamie… really helpful.” Hermione says turning a shade of white.

“What’s that noise?” says Ron suddenly. A faint, tinny sort of whistle is coming from somewhere. We look all around the compartment.

“It’s coming from your trunk, Harry,” says Ron, standing up and reaching into the luggage rack. A moment later he has pulled a Pocket Sneakoscope out from between Harry’s robes. It is spinning very fast in the palm of Ron’s hand and glowing brilliantly. That can’t be good.

“Is that a Sneakoscope?” asks Hermione interestedly, standing up for a better look.

“Yeah . . . mind you, it’s a very cheap one,” Ron says. “It went haywire just as I was tying it to Errol’s leg to send it to Harry.”

“Were you doing anything untrustworthy at the time?” demands Hermione shrewdly.

“No! Well . . . I wasn’t supposed to be using Errol. You know he’s not really up to long journeys . . . but how else was I supposed to get Harry’s present to him?”

“Stick it back in the trunk,” Harry advises as the Sneakoscope whistles piercingly, “or it’ll wake him up.”

He nods towards Professor Lupin. Ron stuffs the Sneakoscope into a particularly horrible pair of Uncle Vernon’s old socks, which deaden the sound, then closes the lid of the trunk on it.

“We could get it checked in Hogsmeade,” says Ron, sitting back down. “They sell that sort of thing in Dervish and Banges, magical instruments and stuff. Fred and George told me.”

“Do you know much about Hogsmeade?” asks Hermione keenly. “I’ve read it’s the only entirely non-Muggle settlement in Britain —”

“Yeah, I think it is,” says Ron in an offhand sort of way, “but that’s not why I want to go. I just want to get inside Honeydukes!”

“What’s that?” asks Hermione.

“It’s this sweetshop,” explains Ron, a dreamy look coming over his face, “where they’ve got everything. . . . Pepper Imps — they make you smoke at the mouth — and great fat Chocoballs full of strawberry mousse and clotted cream, and really excellent sugar quills, which you can suck in class and just look like you’re thinking what to write next —”

Great now he’s made me hungry. I know a fair amount about Hogsmeade but not enough to really contribute in this conversation.

“But Hogsmeade’s a very interesting place, isn’t it?” Hermione presses on eagerly. “In Sites of Historical Sorcery it says the inn was the headquarters for the 1612 goblin rebellion, and the Shrieking Shack’s supposed to be the most severely haunted building in Britain —”

“— and massive sherbet balls that make you levitate a few inches off the ground while you’re sucking them,” says Ron, who is plainly not listening to a word Hermione is saying.

I turn my attention to Harry. “Won’t it be nice to get out of school for a bit and explore Hogsmeade?” I ask him smiling noticing that he had been quiet for a while.

“’Spect it will,” says Harry heavily. “You’ll have to tell me when you’ve found out.”

“What d’you mean?” asks Ron.

“I can’t go. The Dursleys didn’t sign my permission form, and Fudge wouldn’t either.”

Ron looks horrified.“You’re not allowed to come? But — no way — McGonagall or someone will give you permission —”

Harry gave a hollow laugh. Professor McGonagall, head of Gryffindor House, is very strict.

“— or we can ask Fred and George, they know every secret passage out of the castle —” I try thinking of another way that this can work. I’m not going to Hogsmeade if I can’t be with all my friends. What’s the point?

“Jamie!” says Hermione sharply. “I don’t think Harry should be sneaking out of school with Black on the loose —”

“Yeah, I expect that’s what McGonagall will say when I ask for permission,” says Harry bitterly.

“But if we’re with him,” tries Ron spiritedly to Hermione, “Black wouldn’t dare —”

“Oh, Ron, don’t talk rubbish,” snaps Hermione. “Black’s already murdered a whole bunch of people in the middle of a crowded street. Do you really think he’s going to worry about attacking Harry just because we’re there?”

She is fumbling with the straps of Crookshanks’s basket as she speaks. Oh no this can only end badly. I’m not ready for the first official Ron v. Hermione fight yet. It has to happen on school grounds so that I can run and hide, not in a small cramped compartment! Why Merlin do you hate me so?

“Don’t let that thing out!” Ron says, but too late; Crookshanks leaps lightly from the basket, stretches, yawns, and springs onto Ron’s knees; the lump in Ron’s pocket trembles and he shoves Crookshanks angrily away.

“Get out of here!” Ron cries.

“Ron, don’t!” says Hermione angrily. Ron is about to answer back when Professor Lupin stirs. We watch him apprehensively, but he simply turns his head the other way, mouth slightly open, and sleeps on.

The Hogwarts Express moves steadily north and the scenery outside the window becomes wilder and darker while the clouds overhead thicken. People are chasing backward and forward past the door of our compartment. Crookshanks has now settled in an empty seat, his squashed face turned toward Ron, his yellow eyes on Ron’s top pocket.

Harry and I have taken to playing a game of muggle cards that he had taught me last year with a deck that he had apparently stolen from his cousin Dudley. Harry seems particularly proud of that one.

At one o’clock, the plump witch with the food cart arrives at the compartment door. “D’you think we should wake him up?” Ron asks awkwardly, nodding towards Professor Lupin. “He looks like he could do with some food.”

Hermione approaches Professor Lupin cautiously. “Er — Professor?” she says. “Excuse me — Professor?” He doesn’t move.

“Don’t worry, dear,” says the witch as she hands Harry a large stack of Cauldron Cakes. “If he’s hungry when he wakes, I’ll be up front with the driver.”

“I suppose he is asleep?” says Ron quietly as the witch slides the compartment door closed. “I mean — he hasn’t died, has he?”

I take the cake that Harry passes me with a grateful smile, I was seriously starting to starve there. For a moment I thought that I might not make it back to Hogwarts before expiring.

“No, no, he’s breathing,” whispers Hermione, taking the Cauldron Cake Harry passes her.

He might not be very good company, but Professor Lupin’s presence in our compartment has its uses. Midafternoon, just as it has started to rain, blurring the rolling hills outside the window, we hear footsteps in the corridor again, and our three least favorite people appeared at the door: Draco Malfoy, flanked by his cronies, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. Or lovingly called Dumb and Dumber by yours truly which is a more apt name.

“Well, look who it is,” says Malfoy in his usual lazy drawl, pulling open the compartment door. “Potty and the Weasel.”

Crabbe and Goyle chuckle trollishly.

“Ooh Mr. Originality himself! That was a good one Malfoy I almost forgot to be offended there for a moment!” I shoot back at him. Malfoy decides to ignore my taunts though.

“I heard your father finally got his hands on some gold this summer, Weasley,” says Malfoy. “Did your mother die of shock?” Ron stands up so quickly he knockes Crookshanks’s basket to the floor. Professor Lupin gives a snort.

“Who’s that?” demands Malfoy, taking an automatic step backwards as he spots Lupin.

“New teacher,” replies Harry confidently, who got to his feet, too, in case he needed to hold Ron back. “What were you saying, Malfoy?”

Malfoy’s pale eyes narrow; he isn’t fool enough to pick a fight right under a teacher’s nose.

“C’mon,” he mutters resentfully to Crabbe and Goyle, and they disappear. Harry and Ron sit down again, Ron massaging his knuckles.

“I’m not going to take any crap from Malfoy this year,” he says angrily. “I mean it. If he makes one more crack about my family, I’m going to get hold of his head and —” Ron makes a violent gesture in midair.

“Ron,” hisses Hermione, pointing at Professor Lupin, “be careful . . .” But Professor Lupin is still fast asleep.

The rain thickens as the train speeds yet farther north; the windows are now a solid, shimmering gray, which gradually darkens until lanterns flicker into life all along the corridors and over the luggage racks. The train rattles, the rain hammers, the wind roars, but still, Professor Lupin sleeps.

I was beginning to feel sleepy myself and my head is resting upon Harry’s shoulder as he read from a book. I read along with him for lack of something better to do.

“We must be nearly there,” says Ron, leaning forward to look past Professor Lupin at the now completely black window. The words have hardly left him when the train starts to slow down.

“Great,” says Ron, getting up and walking carefully past Professor Lupin to try and see outside. “I’m starving. I want to get to the feast. . . .” I lift my head up off of Harry’s shoulder. Something doesn’t seem right… I don’t like this one bit.

The train is getting slower and slower. As the noise of the pistons fall away, the wind and rain sounds louder than ever against the windows.

Harry, who is nearest the door, gets up to look into the corridor. All along the carriage, heads are sticking curiously out of their compartments.

The train comes to a stop with a jolt, and distant thuds and bangs tell us that luggage has fallen out of the racks. Then, without warning, all the lamps go out and we are plunged into total darkness. Okay that I don’t like! I definitely do not like this!

“What’s going on?” asks Ron.

“Ouch!” gasps Hermione. “Ron, that was my foot!” I feel someone sit down beside me, and I reach out grasping his hand for I know that its Harry.

“D’you think we’ve broken down?” I ask nervously squeezing tightly to the hand in my grasp.

“Dunno . . .” Harry replies softly. There is a squeaking sound, and we see the dim black outline of Ron, wiping a patch clean on the window and peering out.

“There’s something moving out there,” Ron says. “I think people are coming aboard. . . .”

“What? I don’t think that’s supposed to happen… I don’t like this guys! I really don’t like this!” I whimper scooting closer to Harry. Monsters I can deal with as long as I can see them and I’ve had proper time to prepare and steel my fleeing reflexes. Mysterious people coming aboard our stopped train in the middle of no where with no lights on, that’s another story entirely!

The compartment door suddenly opens and someone falls painfully over Harry’s legs and onto mine.

“Sorry — d’you know what’s going on? — Ouch — sorry —”

“Hullo, Neville,” says Harry, feeling around in the dark and pulling Neville up by his cloak.

“Harry? Is that you? What’s happening?” Neville asks worriedly.

“No idea — sit down —” I tell him pushing him along to where the empty seats are. There is a loud hissing and a yelp of pain; Neville had tried to sit on Crookshanks. That would have been more entertaining if I could have seen it happen though. I feel a squeeze to my hand and return the gesture to let Harry know that I’m still with him.

“I’m going to go and ask the driver what’s going on,” comes Hermione’s voice. I feel her pass me, hear the door slide open again, and then a thud and two loud squeals of pain.

“Who’s that?”

“Who’s that?”

“Ginny?”

“Hermione?”

“What are you doing?”

“I was looking for Ron —”

“Come in and sit down —”

“Not here!” says Harry hurriedly. “I’m here!”

“Ouch!” cries Neville.

“Quiet!” says a hoarse voice suddenly. I’m not expecting it so I jump a little from my spot squished in between Harry and Ginny. Okay at any time this nightmare can just be over and I can wake up. I’m not kidding this time!

Professor Lupin appears to have woken up at last. I can hear movements in his corner. None of us speak. There is a soft, crackling noise, and a shivering light fills the compartment. Professor Lupin appears to be holding a handful of flames. They illuminate his tired, gray face, but his eyes look alert and wary.

“Stay where you are,” he tells us in the same hoarse voice, and he gets slowly to his feet with his handful of fire held out in front of him.

But the door slides slowly open before Lupin can reach it. What comes next is surely going to haunt my nightmares for years to come. Standing in the doorway, illuminated by the shivering flames in Lupin’s hand, is a cloaked figure that towers to the ceiling. Its face is completely hidden beneath its hood. My eyes dart downward, and what I see make my stomach twist. There is a hand protruding from the cloak and it is glistening, grayish, slimy-looking, and scabbed, like something dead that has decayed in water. . . .

But it is visible only for a split second. As though the creature beneath the cloak sensed my gaze, the hand is suddenly withdrawn into the folds of its black cloak.

And then the thing beneath the hood, whatever it is, draws a long, slow, rattling breath, as though it is trying to suck something more than air from its surroundings.

An intense cold sweeps over us all. I feel my breath catch in his chest. The cold is going deeper than my skin. It is inside my chest, it is inside my heart. A violent shiver shoots through me and I close my eyes against the cold.

_“Run Alexis! Take Luka and Jamie! I can’t hold them off forever!”_

_“Don’t be stupid Daniel I’m not leaving without you!”_

_“Think of the children my love! They have to survive!”_

_“I don’t want this to be goodbye…”_

_“I know but this is the only thing that we can do…”_

I come back into myself with a shudder. That couldn’t have just happened. I blink a few times and see that Harry has fallen onto the compartment floor and that Ron and Hermione are slapping him, trying to get him to wake up. Neville and Professor Lupin are watching on. I slide down to my knees beside them and give Harry’s shoulder a shake.

“W-what?” Harry sputters coming to finally. I heave a sigh of relief and give a grateful smile. Thank Merlin. Ron and Hermione help Harry back up into his seat.

“Are you okay?” Ron asks nervously.

“Yeah,” says Harry, looking quickly toward the door. The hooded creature has vanished. “What happened? Where’s that — that thing? Who screamed?”

“No one screamed Harry.” I tell him pretty sure about that one. My dead parents might have been talking, but there definitely wasn’t any screaming. I shiver again from the cold that seems to be lingering in my body.

“But I heard screaming —” A loud snap makes us all jump. Professor Lupin is breaking an enormous slab of chocolate into pieces. I don’t think that I can eat after what just happened. Lupin starts handing us each a part of the chocolate bar.

“Eat it, it will help.” Lupin tells me dropping a fairly large chunk into my palm; larger in size then everyone else’s except for Harry’s who’s by far is the largest.

“What was that thing?” Harry asks Lupin.

“A dementor,” replies Lupin, who is now wiping off his hands. “One of the dementors of Azkaban.”

Everyone stares at him. Professor Lupin crumples up the empty chocolate wrapper and puts it in his pocket.

“Eat,” he repeats. “It’ll help. I need to speak to the driver, excuse me . . .” He strolls past Harry and disappears into the corridor.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Harry?” says Hermione, watching Harry anxiously.

“I don’t get it. . . . What happened?” asks Harry, wiping more sweat off his face.

“Well — that thing — the dementor — stood there and looked around (I mean, I think it did, I couldn’t see its face) — and you — you —” Hermione attempts to explain.

“I thought you were having a fit or something,” says Ron, who still looks scared. “You went sort of rigid and fell out of your seat and started twitching —”

I shudder just thinking of what had happened and I didn’t even see what was happening to Harry. I’m too busy reliving the last and only words that my parents will ever say to me.

“And Professor Lupin stepped over you, and walked toward the dementor, and pulled out his wand,” says Hermione, “and he said, ‘None of us is hiding Sirius Black under our cloaks. Go.’ But the dementor didn’t move, so Lupin muttered something, and a silvery thing shot out of his wand at it, and it turned around and sort of glided away. . . .”

“It was horrible,” squeaks Neville, in a higher voice than usual. “Did you feel how cold it got when it came in?”

“I felt weird,” says Ron, shifting his shoulders uncomfortably. “Like I’d never be cheerful again. . . .” I agree with that wholeheartedly. All the worrisome things that had been on my mind are now crushing their weight down onto my shoulders.

Ginny, who is huddled in her corner looking nearly as bad as I feel, gives a small sob; Hermione and I go over and put a comforting arms around her.

“But didn’t any of you — fall off your seats?” asks Harry awkwardly.

“No,” says Ron, looking anxiously at Harry again. “Ginny was shaking like mad, though. . . . and Jamie was just sitting there breathing really fast like she was going to be passing out…”

Professor Lupin has come back. He pauses as he enters, looking around, and says, with a small smile, “I haven’t poisoned that chocolate, you know. . . .” I raise my piece of chocolate shakily to my mouth, and I’m instantly happy that I decided to try it for warmth spreads through me as soon as I eat it. That’s much better.

“We’ll be at Hogwarts in ten minutes,” says Professor Lupin. “Are you all right, Harry?” Harry looks shocked that the professor knows his name but everyone in the wizarding world knows who he is. Harry mutters a fine and we go back to silence.

We didn’t talk much during the remainder of the journey. At long last, the train stops at Hogsmeade station, and there is a great scramble to get outside; owls hoot, cats meow, and Neville’s pet toad croaks loudly from under his hat. It is freezing on the tiny platform; rain was driving down in icy sheets. Just what I needed an ice bath after I had just warmed up from being internally frozen!

“Firs’ years this way!” calls a familiar voice. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I turn and see the gigantic outline of Hagrid at the other end of the platform, beckoning the terrified-looking new students forward for their traditional journey across the lake. I can’t help the smile that comes to my face even though I’m about to catch hypothermia.

“All righ’, you four?” Hagrid yells over the heads of the crowd. We wave at him, but had no chance to speak to him because the mass of people around us are shunting us away along the platform. We follow the rest of the school along the platform and out onto a rough mud track, where at least a hundred stagecoaches await the remaining students, each pulled, I can only assume, by an invisible horse, because when we climb inside and shut the door, the coach sets off all by itself, bumping and swaying in procession.

The stagecoach smells like moldy straw but I’m not going to complain since I’m out of the freezing rain finally and at least a little more dry. I couldn’t help but keep shooting worried glances at Harry along with Ron and Hermione. He really scared me there. I’m not ready to lose my best friend just quite yet.

As the carriage trundled towards a pair of magnificent wrought iron gates, flanked with stone columns topped with winged boars, I see two more towering, hooded dementors, standing guard on either side. A wave of cold sickness threatened to engulf me again; but I just gritted my teeth and turned my attention to Hermione.  The carriage picks up speed on the long, sloping drive up to the castle; Hermione is leaning out of the tiny window, watching the many turrets and towers draw nearer. At last, the carriage sways to a halt, and Hermione and Ron get out and I’m right behind them.

As Harry steps down, a drawling, delighted voice sounds. “You fainted, Potter? Is Longbottom telling the truth? You actually fainted?”

Malfoy elbows past Hermione to block Harry’s way up the stone steps to the castle, his face gleeful and his pale eyes glinting maliciously.

“Shove off, Malfoy,” says Ron, whose jaw was clenched.

“Did you faint as well, Weasley?” says Malfoy loudly. “Did the scary old dementor frighten you too, Weasley?”

“I bet you were crying for your mummy Malfoy.” I snarl at him. No one gets to talk to them that way.

“At least I have a mum Pendragon!” He sneers. I wince and turn my face away from Malfoy not wanting to see him get the best of me.

“That was a low blow Malfoy!” Harry growls taking a step towards Malfoy.

“Is there a problem?” says a mild voice. Professor Lupin has just gotten out of the next carriage.

Malfoy gives Professor Lupin an insolent stare, which takes in the patches on his robes and the dilapidated suitcase. With a tiny hint of sarcasm in his voice, he says, “Oh, no — er — Professor,” then he smirks at Crabbe and Goyle and leads them up the steps into the castle.

Hermione prods Ron and me in the back to make us hurry, and the four of us join the crowd swarming up the steps, through the giant oak front doors, into the cavernous entrance hall, which is lit with flaming torches, and houses a magnificent marble staircase that leads to the upper floors. Ah, it’s good to be back.

The door into the Great Hall stands open at the right; we follow the crowd towards it, but have barely glimpsed the enchanted ceiling, which is black and cloudy tonight, when a voice calls, “Potter! Granger! I want to see you both!”

Harry and Hermione turn around, surprised. Professor McGonagall, Transfiguration teacher and head of Gryffindor House, is calling over the heads of the crowd. She is a stern-looking witch who wears her hair in a tight bun; her sharp eyes are framed with square spectacles.

“There’s no need to look so worried — I just want a word in my office,” she tells them. “Move along there, Weasley, Pendragon.” She tells us. Reluctantly Ron and I watch as Harry and Hermione trail off behind McGonagall.

“Come on, we best get a seat so that we can get some food.” Ron tells me grabbing me by the elbow, and steering me into the Great Hall towards the Gryffindor table. Ron and I make it to seats beside either Weasley twin and save the seats next to us for Harry and Hermione. George nudges me with his elbow from his place next to me.

“I hear that Harry had a rough time of it on the train. He all right?” George whispers. I nod my head. “Smashing that means that we can get on to much more enjoyable topics like what good natured practical hijinks that we’re going to get up to this year. Freddie and I have been coming up with some great ideas and new inventions all summer.” He explains.

I grin at George but I’m still fairly distracted on the account that two of my best friends are currently with McGonagall at the moment. I allow myself to get pulled into the whispered conversation with George as the Sorting begins. Looking at all of the small terrified faces of the new first years, makes me wonder if I was exactly that small and that scared looking when it was my first year here.

The Sorting goes by and my friends are still not here yet, and Ron is starting to look worried as well. Suddenly Hermione is slipping into the empty seat next to me, and Harry into the one next to Ron. “What was that all about?” Ron questions, and I learn forward across the table so I’m able to hear. Harry opens his mouth to explain but he doesn’t get far.

Headmaster Dumbledore has risen to the podium to speak. Professor Dumbledore, though very old, always gives an impression of great energy. He has several feet of long silver hair and beard, half-moon spectacles, and an extremely crooked nose.

“Welcome!” says Dumbledore, the candlelight shimmering on his beard. “Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few things to say to you all, and as one of them is very serious, I think it best to get it out of the way before you become befuddled by our excellent feast. . . .” Dumbledore clears his throat and continues, “As you will all be aware after their search of the Hogwarts Express, our school is presently playing host to some of the dementors of Azkaban, who are here on Ministry of Magic business.”

I shudder at the mention of Azkeban again; it reminds me of my nightmare last night. Have those dementors seen my uncle before?

“They are stationed at every entrance to the grounds,” Dumbledore continues, “and while they are with us, I must make it plain that nobody is to leave school without permission. Dementors are not to be fooled by tricks or disguises — or even Invisibility Cloaks,” he adds blandly, and Harry, Ron, and I glance at each other. “It is not in the nature of a dementor to understand pleading or excuses. I therefore warn each and every one of you to give them no reason to harm you. I look to the prefects, and our new Head Boy and Girl, to make sure that no student runs afoul of the dementors,” he says.

Percy, who is sitting a few seats down from me, puffs out his chest again and stares around impressively. Dumbledore pauses again; he looks very seriously around the hall, and nobody moves or makes a sound.

“On a happier note,” he continues, “I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to our ranks this year.

“First, Professor Lupin, who has kindly consented to fill the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.” There is some scattered, rather unenthusiastic applause. Only those who had been in the compartment on the train with Professor Lupin clap hard, me among them. Professor Lupin looks particularly shabby next to all the other teachers in their best robes.

“Look at Snape!” I hiss into Hermione’s ear. Professor Snape, the Potions master, is staring along the staff table at Professor Lupin. It is common knowledge that Snape wants the Defense Against the Dark Arts job, but even I, who hate Snape, am startled at the expression twisting his thin, sallow face. It is beyond anger: It is loathing.

“As to our second new appointment,” Dumbledore continues as the lukewarm applause for Professor Lupin dies away. “Well, I am sorry to tell you that Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, retired at the end of last year in order to enjoy more time with his remaining limbs. However, I am delighted to say that his place will be filled by none other than Rubeus Hagrid, who has agreed to take on this teaching job in addition to his gamekeeping duties.”

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I stare at one another, stunned. Then we join in with the applause, which is tumultuous at the Gryffindor table in particular. We lean forward to see Hagrid, who is ruby-red in the face and staring down at his enormous hands, his wide grin hidden in the tangle of his black beard.

“We should’ve known!” Ron roars, pounding the table. “Who else would have assigned us a biting book?”

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I are the last to stop clapping, and as Professor Dumbledore starts speaking again, we see that Hagrid is wiping his eyes on the tablecloth. “Well, I think that’s everything of importance,” says Dumbledore. “Let the feast begin!”

The golden plates and goblets before us fill suddenly with food and drink. Just looking at the food makes my mouth start to water. I don’t know when I became hungry but now I’m positively starving!

It is a delicious feast; the hall echoes with talk, laughter, and the clatter of knives and forks. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I however, are eager for it to finish so that we can talk to Hagrid. We know how much being made a teacher means to him. Hagrid isn’t a fully qualified wizard; he had been expelled from Hogwarts in his third year for a crime he had not committed. It had been us who had cleared Hagrid’s name last year.

At long last, when the last morsels of pumpkin tart have melted from the golden platters, Dumbledore gives the word that it was time for us all to go to bed, and we got our chance.

“Congratulations, Hagrid!” Hermione squeals as we reach the teachers’ table.

“All down ter you three,” said Hagrid, wiping his shining face on his napkin as he looked up at them. “Can’ believe it . . . great man, Dumbledore . . . came straight down to me hut after Professor Kettleburn said he’d had enough. . . . It’s what I always wanted. . . .”

“As long as we don’t have to deal with any more student eating creatures Hagrid, I think that you’re class is going to be the best of them all.” I tell him patting him as high as I can right which is his arm.

Overcome with emotion, he buries his face in his napkin, and Professor McGonagall shoos us away. I heave a great yawn suddenly reminded that I didn’t sleep that well the night before and that it was getting fairly late. All I want to do is get into my pajamas and curl up in bed.

We join the Gryffindors streaming up the marble staircase and, very tired now, along more corridors, up more and more stairs, to the hidden entrance to Gryffindor Tower. A large portrait of a fat lady in a pink dress asks us, “Password?”

“Coming through, coming through!” Percy calls from behind the crowd. “The new password’s ‘Fortuna Major’!”

“Oh no,” says Neville Longbottom sadly. He always has trouble remembering the passwords.

“Don’t worry Neville, I think that this year might just be your lucky year.” I tell him sleepily as I pass by him. Neville shoots me a grateful look. We climb through the portrait hole and say goodnight to Harry and Ron as they head up to the boys dormitory.

I follow behind Hermione up to our floor where the new sign read third years. We push into the circular room with five four-poster beds with all our stuff all ready in front of them. I collapse onto my bed face first and let out a long contented sigh.

“It does feel good to be back I have to say, even if there are dementors around.” Hermione tells me flopping down onto her bed as well. I manage to push myself up into a sitting position.

“Yeah, it does feel good to be back…” I trail off thinking about all the problems that have followed me back to the castle, that none of my friends know about. “Really good to be back…” I whisper, and drop back down onto my mattress.

 


	4. Talons and Tea Leaves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

Chapter 4- Talons and Tea Leaves

 

 When Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I enter the Great Hall for breakfast the next day, the first thing we see is Draco Malfoy, who seems to be entertaining a large group of Slytherins with a very funny story. As we pass, Malfoy does a ridiculous impression of a swooning fit and there is a roar of laughter.

“Ignore him,” says Hermione, who is right behind Harry. “Just ignore him, it’s not worth it. . . .”

“Hey, Potter!” shrieks Pansy Parkinson, a Slytherin girl with a face like a pug. “Potter! The dementors are coming, Potter! Woooooooo!”

“Hey Pansy you’re just jealous ‘cause Malfoy doesn’t spend as much time with you!” I shout back at her ignoring Hermione completely. Pansy flushes a deep red, and jumps up from her table to confront me, but a few of her friends hold her back.

We take our seats at the table with Harry and Ron sitting next to Fred and George Weasley. “New third-year course schedules, and by the way beautifully executed Lady Jamie,” says George, passing them over. “What’s up with you, Harry?”

“Malfoy,” says Ron glaring over at Malfoy and the Slytherin table in general.

George looks up in time to see Malfoy pretending to faint with terror again.

“That little git,” he says calmly. “He wasn’t so cocky last night when the dementors were down at our end of the train. Came running into our compartment, didn’t he, Fred?”

“Nearly wet himself,” says Fred, with a contemptuous glance at Malfoy. I snicker imagining Malfoy wetting his shorts in front of all of Hogwarts. Ah, a girl can dream can’t she?

“I would’ve paid to see that.” I say wistfully. Fred smirks at me.

“For you Jame it would be free.” He tells me with a grin. I smile back and scoop some porridge into my bowl.

“What about me, I’m your brother?” Ron says expectantly.

“Family discount ten sickles.” George responds before Fred can open his mouth. Ron gapes at the two of them in shock.

“But I’m your BROTHER!” Ron emphasizes loudly.

“Unfortunately that you are.” Fred says testing his ears to see if they still work. Ron grumbles about the unfairness of the twins under his breath and turns back to his breakfast before him.

“Anyway, we’ll see how happy Malfoy looks after our first Quidditch match,” says Fred. “Gryffindor versus Slytherin, first game of the season, remember?” I feel my spirits pick up imagining the last game that we had played against Slytherin. Sure I had come away with a bludger to the head but Quidditch is always enjoyable.

Hermione meanwhile is examining her new schedule. “Ooh, good, we’re starting some new subjects today,” she says happily.

“Hermione,” says Ron, frowning as he looks over her shoulder, “they’ve messed up your schedule. Look — they’ve got you down for about ten subjects a day. There isn’t enough time.” Huh, I’ve never known of Hogwarts messing up schedules before.

“I’ll manage. I’ve fixed it all with Professor McGonagall.” Hermione says.

“But look,” says Ron, laughing, “see this morning? Nine o’clock, Divination. And underneath, nine o’clock, Muggle Studies. And” — Ron leaned closer to the schedule, disbelieving — “look — underneath that, Arithmancy, nine o’clock. I mean, I know you’re good, Hermione, but no one’s that good. How’re you supposed to be in three classes at once?”

“Don’t be silly,” says Hermione shortly. “Of course I won’t be in three classes at once.”

I lean over Ron’s shoulder to look at the paper as well. Sure enough there’s all those classes listed under nine o’clock.

“Hermione…” I try to object.

“Well, then —” Ron tries.

“Pass the marmalade,” says Hermione.

“But —” Ron goes for it again.

“Oh, Ron, what’s it to you if my schedule’s a bit full?” Hermione snaps. “I told you, I’ve fixed it all with Professor McGonagall.”

Just then, Hagrid enters the Great Hall. He is wearing his long moleskin overcoat and is absentmindedly swinging a dead polecat from one enormous hand. I shudder trying to inch away from the dead beast. Not in my porridge please, I really don’t feel like eating dead porridge.

“All righ’?” he says eagerly, pausing on the way to the staff table. “Yer in my firs’ ever lesson! Right after lunch! Bin up since five gettin’ everythin’ ready. . . . Hope it’s okay. . . . Me, a teacher . . . hones’ly. . . .”

He grins broadly at us and heads off to the staff table, still swinging the polecat.

“Wonder what he’s been getting ready?” wonders Ron, a note of anxiety in his voice.

The hall is starting to empty as people head off towards their first lesson. Ron checks his course schedule. “We’d better go, look, Divination’s at the top of North Tower. It’ll take us ten minutes to get there. . . .”

We hurriedly finish our breakfasts, say good-bye to Fred and George, and walk back through the hall. As we pass the Slytherin table, Malfoy does yet another impression of a fainting fit. The shouts of laughter follow Harry into the entrance hall.

“Don’t worry Harry. Malfoy’s just jealous that he’ll never be half as popular as you are.” I tell him shooting my friend a big smile.

“She’s right mate, don’t let that git get to you!” Ron exclaims still glaring at the hall in our wake.

The journey through the castle to North Tower is a long one. Two years at Hogwarts hasn’t taught us everything about the castle, and we have never been inside North Tower before.

“There’s — got — to — be — a — shortcut,” Ron pants as we climb our seventh long staircase and emerge on an unfamiliar landing, where there is nothing but a large painting of a bare stretch of grass hanging on the stone wall.

“I think it’s this way,” says Hermione, peering down the empty passage to the right.

“Can’t be,” says Ron. “That’s south, look, you can see a bit of the lake out of the window . . .”

“I don’t care anymore… go on without me. I’ll remember you fondly.” I tell them doubled over and attempting to catch my breath.

“I can’t believe you’re that our of shape from one summer Jamie.” Harry mutters distractedly. I rear up glaring, but Harry’s not paying me any attention. Harry is watching the painting. A fat, dapple-gray pony has just ambled onto the grass and is grazing nonchalantly. A moment later, a short, squat knight in a suit of armor clanks into the picture after his pony. By the look of the grass stains on his metal knees, he has just fallen off.

“Aha!” he yells, seeing Harry, Ron, Hermione, and me. “What villains are these, that trespass upon my private lands! Come to scorn at my fall, perchance? Draw, you knaves, you dogs!”

We watch in astonishment as the little knight tugs his sword out of its scabbard and begins brandishing it violently, hopping up and down in rage. But the sword is too long for him; a particularly wild swing makes him overbalance, and he lands facedown in the grass.

I have to cover up my giggle behind my hand. “Are you all right?” asks Harry, moving closer to the picture.

“Get back, you scurvy braggart! Back, you rogue!” The knight seizes his sword again and uses it to push himself back up, but the blade sinks deeply into the grass and, though he pulls with all his might, he can’t get it out again. Finally, he has to flop back down onto the grass and push up his visor to mop his sweating face.

“Listen,” says Harry, taking advantage of the knight’s exhaustion, “we’re looking for the North Tower. You don’t know the way, do you?”

“A quest!” The knight’s rage seems to vanish instantly. He clanks to his feet and shouts, “Come follow me, dear friends, and we shall find our goal, or else shall perish bravely in the charge!”

He gives the sword another fruitless tug, tries and fails to mount the fat pony, gives up, and cries, “On foot then, good sirs and gentle ladies! On! On!”

I chuckle in amusement as he runs, clanking loudly, into the left side of the frame and out of sight. We hurry after him along the corridor, following the sound of his armor. Every now and then we spot him running through a picture ahead.

“Be of stout heart, the worst is yet to come!” yells the knight, and we see him reappear in front of an alarmed group of women in crinolines, whose picture hangs on the wall of a narrow spiral staircase. Great more stairs, I don’t think that I’m going to be able to survive the trip to this class.

Puffing loudly, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I climb the tightly spiraling steps, getting dizzier and dizzier, until at last we hear the murmur of voices above us and know we have reached the classroom.

“Farewell!” cries the knight, popping his head into a painting of some sinister-looking monks. “Farewell, my comrades-in-arms! If ever you have need of noble heart and steely sinew, call upon Sir Cadogan!” I can’t help but return a wave to him.

“Fare thee well dear knight Sir Cadogan!” I reply with a quick curtsy. The last thing that I see of him is a pair of bright red cheeks underneath a shiny helmet as he dashes out of sight.

“Well if you’re done flirting with the painting Jamie we have to get to class! We’re already late!” Hermione cries.

“We’re on time Hermione.” Ron whines from beside her as we ascend the last few steps.

“Seriously Ronald when are you going to learn? On time is always late.” Hermione scolds him, and I give Harry a dubious glance. Well what does that mean when we’re actually late for a class? Don’t even bother showing up?

We climb the last few steps and emerge onto a tiny landing, where most of the class is already assembled. There are no doors off this landing, but Ron nudges Harry and points at the ceiling, where there is a circular trapdoor with a brass plaque on it.

“‘Sybill Trelawney, Divination teacher,’” Harry reads aloud. “How’re we supposed to get up there?” As though in answer to his question, the trapdoor suddenly opens, and a silvery ladder descends right at Harry’s feet. Everyone gets quiet.

“After you,” said Ron, grinning. Harry’s eyes grow wide and he shakes his head.

“Fine, if you boys would like to join me in the land of the brave and the awesome any time soon then by all means you can follow me up the ladder.” I tell them, pushing Harry aside and climbing up the rungs, while balancing my rucksack on my back.

I emerge into the strangest-looking classroom I have ever seen. In fact, it doesn’t look like a classroom at all, more like a cross between someone’s attic and an old-fashioned tea shop. At least twenty small, circular tables are crammed inside it, all surrounded by chintz armchairs and fat little poufs. Everything is lit with a dim, crimson light; the curtains at the windows are all closed, and the many lamps are draped with dark red scarves. It is stiflingly warm, and the fire that is burning under the crowded mantelpiece is giving off a heavy, sickly sort of perfume as it heats a large copper kettle. The shelves running around the circular walls are crammed with dusty-looking feathers, stubs of candles, many packs of tattered playing cards, countless silvery crystal balls, and a huge array of teacups.

“I don’t think we’re in Hogwarts anymore…” I say trailing off at the sheer amount of stuff that is in this room. Harry, Hermione, Ron and the other start appearing behind me, all of us not quite sure how to take in the sight of this classroom.

“Where is she?” Ron asks. A voice comes suddenly out of the shadows, a soft, misty sort of voice.

“Welcome,” it says. “How nice to see you in the physical world at last.”

My immediate impression is of a large, glittering insect. Professor Trelawney moves into the firelight, and we see that she is very thin; her large glasses magnifies her eyes to several times their natural size, and she is draped in a gauzy spangled shawl.  Innumerable chains and beads hang around her spindly neck, and her arms and hands are encrusted with bangles and rings.

“Sit, my children, sit,” she says, and we all climb awkwardly into armchairs or sink onto poufs. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I sit ourselves around the same round table.

“Welcome to Divination,” says Professor Trelawney, who has seated herself in a winged armchair in front of the fire. “My name is Professor Trelawney. You may not have seen me before. I find that descending too often into the hustle and bustle of the main school clouds my Inner Eye.”

Nobody says anything to this extraordinary pronouncement. Professor Trelawney delicately rearranges her shawl and continues, “So you have chosen to study Divination, the most difficult of all magical arts. I must warn you at the outset that if you do not have the Sight, there is very little I will be able to teach you. Books can take you only so far in this field. . . .”

Well then why in the name of Merlin’s saggy pants did she make us buy this ruddy book? Oh well it looks like Luka’s got his Christmas present all ready! At these words, Harry, Ron, and I glance, grinning, at Hermione, who looks startled at the news that books wouldn’t be much help in this subject.

“Many witches and wizards, talented though they are in the area of loud bangs and smells and sudden disappearings, are yet unable to penetrate the veiled mysteries of the future,” Professor Trelawney goes on, her enormous, gleaming eyes moving from face to nervous face. “It is a Gift granted to few. You, boy,” she says suddenly to Neville, who almost topples off his pouf. “Is your grandmother well?”

“I think so,” says Neville tremulously. Well now she’s just scaring the poor boy for no reason.

“I wouldn’t be so sure if I were you, dear,” says Professor Trelawney, the firelight glinting on her long emerald earrings. Neville gulps, and I sigh softly. Professor Trelawney continues placidly. “We will be covering the basic methods of Divination this year. The first term will be devoted to reading the tea leaves. Next term we shall progress to palmistry. By the way, my dear,” she shoots suddenly at Parvati Patil, “beware a red-haired man.”

Parvati gives a startled look at Ron, who is right behind her, and edges her chair away from him. I can’t help but snicker at that and try to muffle the sound by using the edge of my robes. It wouldn’t be good for me to get on the bad side of my professor during the very first day!

“In the second term,” Professor Trelawney continues on, “we shall progress to the crystal ball — if we have finished with fire omens, that is. Unfortunately, classes will be disrupted in February by a nasty bout of flu. I myself will lose my voice. And around Easter, one of our number will leave us forever.”

Okay I was so not expecting that. Harry… no this has nothing to do with him. There are a lot of things that are fantastical in the wizarding world that we live in but divination is one of those that is hardly ever correct… right?

A very tense silence follows this pronouncement, but Professor Trelawney seems unaware of it. “I wonder, dear,” she says to Lavender Brown, who is nearest and shrank back in her chair, “if you could pass me the largest silver teapot?”

Lavender, looking relieved, stands up, takes an enormous teapot from the shelf, and puts it down on the table in front of Professor Trelawney.

“Thank you, my dear. Incidentally, that thing you are dreading — it will happen on Friday the sixteenth of October.” She predicts. Lavender trembles.

“Now, I want you all to divide into pairs. Collect a teacup from the shelf, come to me, and I will fill it. Then sit down and drink, drink until only the dregs remain. Swill these around the cup three times with the left hand, then turn the cup upside down on its saucer, wait for the last of the tea to drain away, then give your cup to your partner to read. You will interpret the patterns using pages five and six of Unfogging the Future. I shall move among you, helping and instructing. Oh, and dear” — she catches Neville by the arm as he makes to stand up — “after you’ve broken your first cup, would you be so kind as to select one of the blue-patterned ones? I’m rather attached to the pink.”

Sure enough, Neville has no sooner reached the shelf of teacups when there is a tinkle of breaking china. Professor Trelawney sweeps over to him holding a dustpan and brush and says, “One of the blue ones, then, dear, if you wouldn’t mind . . . thank you. . . .”

When Hermione and I have had our teacups filled, we head back to our table and try to drink the scalding tea quickly. We swill the dregs around as Professor Trelawney has instructed, then drain the cups and swap them. Hermione is muttering under her breath about the silliness of all this.

I happen to agree but I’m getting that this class could actually be some fun after all. Her teas leaves just look like a ball of mush crumpled together in no real important way, but I look in my book anyway, curious to see if there is an actual meaning behind this type of tea dregs.

“Okay then what do you see in mine?” Hermione asks me not having even bothered to look at my cup yet.

“Well… it sort of looks like a soggy hairball so I’m going to go with very soon your cat Crookshanks will cough up a hairball into your shoe, and that you will not find it until its too late.” I tell her screwing up my brow. I set down her cup with a satisfied smile only to hear the chuckles of Ron and Harry, and the un-amused Hermione.

“Well done! Excellent job Jamie Pendragon. I can tell that there’s a budding divisioner in you just yet!” Professor Trelawney says popping up behind me causing me to jump in shock.

“O-oh well thank you professor!” I stutter still trying to get control of my racing heart. Harry and Ron are seriously snickering now, and Hermione’s face looks like a thundercloud. “What about mine Mione?” I ask her trying to get the attention off me and quickly.

Hermione glances into my cup, then to the book that’s open in front of her. “It looks somewhat like a squashed bug, and that means that you’re being a nuisance.” Hermione snaps. I wince at the aggravated tone that she’s using. Okay not a good time to joke around with her.

“Broaden your minds, my dears, and allow your eyes to see past the mundane!” Professor Trelawney cries through the gloom. I can hear Harry and Ron goofing off from my other side.

“Let me see that, my dear,” she says reprovingly to Ron, sweeping over and snatching Harry’s cup from him. Everyone goes quiet to watch. Professor Trelawney is staring into the teacup, rotating it counterclockwise.

“The falcon . . . my dear, you have a deadly enemy.” She announces.

“But everyone knows that,” says Hermione in a loud whisper. Professor Trelawney stares at her.

“Well, they do,” says Hermione. “Everybody knows about Harry and You-Know-Who.” Who is this and what have they done with my best friend, its like she’s been possessed!

Harry, Ron, and I stare at her with a mixture of amazement and admiration. We have never heard Hermione speak to a teacher like this before. Professor Trelawney chooses not to reply. She lowers her huge eyes to Harry’s cup again and continues to turn it.

“The club . . . an attack. Dear, dear, this is not a happy cup. . . .”

“I thought that was a bowler hat,” says Ron sheepishly. I pat his back understandingly.

“Its okay I thought it was a unicorn.” I whisper to him. Ron barely muffles a snort.

“The skull . . . danger in your path, my dear. . . .”

Everyone is staring, transfixed, at Professor Trelawney, who gives the cup a final turn, gasps, and then screams. There is another tinkle of breaking china; Neville has smashed his second cup. Professor Trelawney sinks into a vacant armchair, her glittering hand at her heart and her eyes closed.

“My dear boy . . . my poor, dear boy . . . no . . . it is kinder not to say . . . no . . . don’t ask me. . . .”

Okay now I’m starting to seriously get freaked out here. I know that all this is pretty easy to make up because everyone pretty much knows everything about Harry but this is getting to be a lot to fake even for a phony.

“What is it, Professor?” says Dean Thomas at once. Everyone has got to their feet, and slowly they crowd around our table, pressing close to Professor Trelawney’s chair to get a good look at Harry’s cup.

“My dear,” Professor Trelawney’s huge eyes open dramatically, “you have the Grim.”

“The what?” says Harry. Anticlimactic much? From looking around at the others I can see that they don’t understand what she means either.

“The Grim, my dear, the Grim!” cries Professor Trelawney, who looks shocked that Harry hadn’t understood. “The giant, spectral dog that haunts churchyards! My dear boy, it is an omen — the worst omen — of death!”

Harry goes pale, and that’s when I finally start to worry. Lavender Brown claps her hands to her mouth too. Everyone is looking at Harry, everyone except Hermione, who has gotten up and moved around to the back of Professor Trelawney’s chair.

“I don’t think it looks like a Grim,” she says flatly. Okay time for round two! Professor Trelawney surveys Hermione with mounting dislike.

“You’ll forgive me for saying so, my dear, but I perceive very little aura around you. Very little receptivity to the resonances of the future.”

Seamus Finnigan is tilting his head from side to side. “It looks like a Grim if you do this,” he says, with his eyes almost shut, “but it looks more like a donkey from here,” he says, leaning to the left. I chuckle softly.

“When you’ve all finished deciding whether I’m going to die or not!” cries Harry, taking us by surprise. Now nobody seems to want to look at him.

“I think we will leave the lesson here for today,” says Professor Trelawney in her mistiest voice. “Yes . . . please pack away your things. . . .” Silently the class takes their teacups back to Professor Trelawney, packs away their books, and closes their bags.

Harry storms ahead of us a few paces and starts down the ladder without so much as a word. Okay maybe I could have handled that whole situation a little better but seriously what am I going to do? I can’t be doing the right thing all of the time, I think that I would explode plus I’m only thirteen! I sigh and shake my head as I descend the ladder after Ron.

There must have been something in the food today for I swear that everyone has been acting grumpier and meaner. We set off for Professor McGonagall’s transfiguration class once we’re all down the ladder. It takes us so long to find her classroom that, early as we had left Divination, we were only just in time.

Harry made to sit in the back of the classroom so we followed him there. I held back Ron from sitting next to Harry so that Hermione could. I think that she’d be the one to do the best good at the moment since she doesn’t believe in the divination rubbish at all. So Ron huffs and sits down next to me in the row in front of our friends.

Its hard to pay attention to McGonagall who is telling us about Animagi (wizards who can transform at will into animals), and I’m not even watching when she transforms herself in front of our eyes into a tabby cat with spectacle markings around her eyes.

“Really, what has got into you all today?” says Professor McGonagall, turning back into herself with a faint pop, and staring around at us all. “Not that it matters, but that’s the first time my transformation’s not got applause from a class.”

Everybody’s heads turn towards Harry again, but nobody speaks. Then Hermione raises her hand. “Please, Professor, we’ve just had our first Divination class, and we were reading the tea leaves, and —”

“Ah, of course,” says Professor McGonagall, suddenly frowning. “There is no need to say any more, Miss Granger. Tell me, which of you will be dying this year?”

Everyone stares at her.

“Me,” says Harry, finally. I hope that I’m not detecting a hint of worry and resignation in his voice. This is not the time for Harry to be giving up already. The school year has only just literally begun!

“I see,” says Professor McGonagall, fixing Harry with her beady eyes. “Then you should know, Potter, that Sybill Trelawney has predicted the death of one student a year since she arrived at this school. None of them has died yet. Seeing death omens is her favorite way of greeting a new class. If it were not for the fact that I never speak ill of my colleagues —”

Professor McGonagall breaks off, and we see that her nostrils have gone white. She goes on, more calmly, “Divination is one of the most imprecise branches of magic. I shall not conceal from you that I have very little patience with it. True Seers are very rare, and Professor Trelawney —”

She stops again, and then says, in a very matter-of-fact tone, “You look in excellent health to me, Potter, so you will excuse me if I don’t let you off homework today. I assure you that if you die, you need not hand it in.”

Okay now I feel better, knowing that McGonagall thinks that Trelawney is a hack as well. Now I’m left to wonder just how exactly she got the position here at Hogwarts. Dumbledore is usually so thorough with his job hires. Hermione laughs at McGonagall’s comment however.

Not everyone is convinced, however. Ron still looks worried, and Lavender whispers, “But what about Neville’s cup?”

When the Transfiguration class has finished, we join the crowd thundering towards the Great Hall for lunch.

“Ron, Jamie cheer up,” says Hermione, pushing a dish of stew toward Ron. “You heard what Professor McGonagall said.” Ron spooned stew onto his plate and picked up his fork but didn’t start. I start picking apart the roll on my plate.

“Harry,” he says, in a low, serious voice, “you haven’t seen a great black dog anywhere, have you?”

“Yeah, I have,” replies Harry. “I saw one the night I left the Dursleys’.” Ron lets his fork fall with a clatter.

“Probably a stray,” says Hermione calmly. Okay I wasn’t expecting Harry to have actually seen this Grim hound. This is getting a little creepy.

Ron looks at Hermione as though she has gone mad or grown three heads. “Hermione, if Harry’s seen a Grim, that’s — that’s bad,” he says. “My — my uncle Bilius saw one and — and he died twenty-four hours later!”

“Coincidence,” says Hermione airily, pouring herself some pumpkin juice.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” cries Ron, starting to get angry. “Grims scare the living daylights out of most wizards!”

I nod my head along with what Ron is saying. “He is right. I think that even Kingsley is a little scared of them and he’s not scared of anything.” I say before I can even check myself. I didn’t mean to let that slip. I didn’t want to bring Kingsley up in case one of them asked me about him. What am I supposed to say, ‘hey guys sorry but I’ve been lying to you for the past months for my guardian lied to me’?

Somehow I don’t think that that would go over that well. I tune back into the conversation at hand.

“There you are, then,” says Hermione in a superior tone. “They see the Grim and die of fright. The Grim’s not an omen, it’s the cause of death! And Harry’s still with us because he’s not stupid enough to see one and think, right, well, I’d better kick the bucket then!”

Ron mouths wordlessly at Hermione, who opens her bag, taking out her new Arithmancy book, and props it open against the juice jug.

“I think Divination seems very woolly,” she says, searching for her page. “A lot of guesswork” Well I can’t disagree with her there.

“There was nothing woolly about the Grim in that cup!” says Ron hotly.

“You didn’t seem quite so confident when you were telling Harry it was a sheep,” replies Hermione coolly.

“Professor Trelawney said you didn’t have the right aura! You just don’t like being bad at something for a change!”

He has touched a nerve. Hermione slams her Arithmancy book down on the table so hard that bits of meat and carrot fly everywhere. Oh no this is not going to be good. I grimace and crouch down a little so as not to be seen.

“If being good at Divination means I have to pretend to see death omens in a lump of tea leaves, I’m not sure I’ll be studying it much longer! That lesson was absolute rubbish compared with my Arithmancy class!” She snatches up her bag and stalks away. This day has been the longest ever and its only halfway over it seriously needs to end soon!

Ron frowned after her. “What’s she talking about?” he says to Harry. “She hasn’t been to an Arithmancy class yet.” Something is going on here, and I’m going to find out what it is eventually.

* * *

Harry and I were pleased to get out of the castle after lunch. Yesterday’s rain has cleared; the sky is a clear, pale gray, and the grass is springy and damp underfoot as we set off for our first-ever Care of Magical Creatures class.

Ron and Hermione aren’t speaking to each other. So Harry and I walk beside them in silence as we go down the sloping lawns to Hagrid’s hut on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. It is only when I spot three only-too-familiar backs ahead of us that I realize that we must be having these lessons with the Slytherins. Malfoy is talking animatedly to Dumb and Dumber, who are chortling. I am quite sure I know what they are talking about.

Hagrid is waiting for his class at the door of his hut. He stands in his moleskin overcoat, with Fang the boarhound at his heels, looking impatient to start.

“C’mon, now, get a move on!” he calls as the class approaches. “Got a real treat for yeh today! Great lesson comin’ up! Everyone here? Right, follow me!” I can’t help but start to get excited for this lesson. Hagrid looks so happy and he hasn’t been these last few years, so I can’t wait to try out what he’s got planned!

Hagrid strolls off around the edge of the trees, and five minutes later, we find ourselves outside a kind of paddock. There is nothing in there though.

“Everyone gather ’round the fence here!” he calls. “That’s it — make sure yeh can see — now, firs’ thing yeh’ll want ter do is open yer books —”

“How?” says the cold, drawling voice of Draco Malfoy. Boy does that voice just make me want to punch him.

“Eh?” says Hagrid.

“How do we open our books?” Malfoy repeats. He takes out his copy of The Monster Book of Monsters, which he has bound shut with a length of rope. Other people takes theirs out too; some, like Harry, have belted their book shut; others have crammed them inside tight bags or clamped them together with binder clips. I had put a quick immobilizing charm on mine.

“Hasn’ — hasn’ anyone bin able ter open their books?” asks Hagrid, looking crestfallen. We all shake our heads no.

“Yeh’ve got ter stroke ’em,” explains Hagrid, as though this is the most obvious thing in the world. “Look —”

He takes Hermione’s copy and rips off the Spellotape that binds it. The book tries to bite, but Hagrid runs a giant forefinger down its spine, and the book shivers, and then falls open and lays quiet in his hand.

“Oh, how silly we’ve all been!” Malfoy sneers. “We should have stroked them! Why didn’t we guess!”

“I — I thought they were funny,” Hagrid says uncertainly to Hermione.

“Oh, tremendously funny!” says Malfoy. “Really witty, giving us books that try and rip our hands off!”

“Be quiet you git or I’ll give you something that you can actually complain about.” I hiss at Malfoy. He turns his hateful glare onto me.

“I’d like to see you try Pendragon.” He sneers quietly right back. Harry grabs my arm and pulls me back from Malfoy so that we can focus back on our lesson. Hagrid’s looking downcast and I was really hoping that his lesson would go well.

“Righ’ then,” says Hagrid, who seems to have lost his thread, “so — so yeh’ve got yer books an’ — an’ — now yeh need the Magical Creatures. Yeah. So I’ll go an’ get ’em. Hang on . . .”

He strides away from us into the forest and out of sight. “God, this place is going to the dogs,” says Malfoy loudly. “That oaf teaching classes, my father’ll have a fit when I tell him —” Okay that’s it Malfoy’s going to lose an ear or maybe that perfectly gelled hair of his that he seems to preen for hours!

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry growls at him.

“Careful, Potter, there’s a dementor behind you —”

“Oooooooh!” squeals Lavender Brown, pointing towards the opposite side of the paddock. Okay I may have just lost hearing in one ear. You’d think that I’d be used to her sound level after two years of living with her but I’m still not.

Trotting towards us are a dozen of the most bizarre creatures I have ever seen. They have the bodies, hind legs, and tails of horses, but the front legs, wings, and heads of what seem to be giant eagles, with cruel, steel-colored beaks and large, brilliantly orange eyes. The talons on their front legs are half a foot long and deadly looking. Each of the beasts have a thick leather collar around its neck, which is attached to a long chain, and the ends of all of these are held in the vast hands of Hagrid, who comes jogging into the paddock behind the creatures.

Okay now this is definitely cool. This is why I love this school, where else will you get large, unique, and potentially dangerous creatures all for free?

“Gee up, there!” he roars, shaking the chains and urging the creatures towards the fence where the class stands. Everyone draws back slightly as Hagrid reaches us and tethered the creatures to the fence.

“Hippogriffs!” Hagrid roars happily, waving a hand at them. “Beau’iful, aren’ they?”

I can sort of see what Hagrid means. Once you get over the first shock of seeing something that is half horse, half bird, you start to appreciate the hippogriffs’ gleaming coats, changing smoothly from feather to hair, each of them a different color: stormy gray, bronze, pinkish roan, gleaming chestnut, and inky black. So pretty much one of the coolest magical creatures that I’ve seen to date!

“So,” says Hagrid, rubbing his hands together and beaming around, “if yeh wan’ ter come a bit nearer —” No one seems to want to. Harry, Ron, and Hermione, however, approach the fence cautiously. I on the other hand practically bounce up to the fence. As long as the creature isn’t part of some dangerous and deadly adventure, I am totally cool about meeting them.

“Now, firs’ thing yeh gotta know abou’ hippogriffs is, they’re proud,” says Hagrid. “Easily offended, hippogriffs are. Don’t never insult one, ’cause it might be the last thing yeh do.” Okay so remember to curtsy and use my best grammar around them. Check!

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle aren’t listening; they are talking in an undertone and I have a nasty feeling they are plotting how best to disrupt the lesson.

“Yeh always wait fer the hippogriff ter make the firs’ move,” Hagrid continues. “It’s polite, see? Yeh walk toward him, and yeh bow, an’ yeh wait. If he bows back, yeh’re allowed ter touch him. If he doesn’ bow, then get away from him sharpish, ’cause those talons hurt.

“Right — who wants ter go first?” He asks expectantly. I bite down on my lower lip a bit nervously. I do want to meet them, but I’m still not exactly sure how well that will go over.

“No one?” says Hagrid, with a pleading look.

“I’ll do it,” says Harry bravely. I beam at him.

“You can do it Harry!” I tell him shooting him a thumbs up. There is an intake of breath from behind us, and both Lavender and Parvati whisper, “Oooh, no, Harry, remember your tea leaves!” Okay so going to dump out all of their makeup that they got over the summer when we get back to the dorms.

Harry ignores them. He climbs over the paddock fence. “Good man, Harry!” roars Hagrid. “Right then — let’s see how yeh get on with Buckbeak.”

He unties one of the chains, pulls the gray hippogriff away from its fellows, and slips off its leather collar. The class on the other side of the paddock seems to be holding its breath. Malfoy’s eyes are narrowed maliciously.

“Easy, now, Harry,” says Hagrid quietly. “Yeh’ve got eye contact, now try not ter blink. . . . Hippogriffs don’ trust yeh if yeh blink too much. . . .”

Harry and Buckbeak begin their stare down. “Tha’s it,” said Hagrid. “Tha’s it, Harry . . . now, bow . . .” Harry gives a short bow to the hippogriff in front of him. The hippogriff is still staring haughtily at him. It didn’t move.

“Ah,” says Hagrid, sounding worried. “Right — back away, now, Harry, easy does it —”

But then, to my enormous surprise, the hippogriff suddenly bends its scaly front knees and sinks into what is an unmistakable bow.

“Well done, Harry!” says Hagrid, ecstatic. “Right — yeh can touch him! Pat his beak, go on!” Harry reaches out a hand and pats the beak several times. I break into applause along with the class except for Malfoy, Dumb, and Dumber who are looking deeply disappointed.

“Righ’ then, Harry,” says Hagrid. “I reckon he might’ let yeh ride him!” Okay that is so cool, and I can’t wait for my turn now! Harry on the other hand does not look so sure of himself.

“Yeh climb up there, jus’ behind the wing joint,” coaches Hagrid, “an’ mind yeh don’ pull any of his feathers out, he won’ like that. . . .” Harry puts his foot on the top of Buckbeak’s wing and hoists himself onto its back. Buckbeak stands up.

This is so incredibly cool! “Go on, then!” roars Hagrid, slapping the hippogriff’s hindquarters. Without warning, twelve-foot wings flap open on either side of Harry; he just has time to seize the hippogriff around the neck before he is soaring upward. I crane my neck up to be able to see my best friend on his flight on a hippogriff.

I’m so jealous of him at the moment it’s not even funny. After a few minutes Buckbeak and Harry land back in the paddock, and Harry looks windblown but no worse for the wear.

“Good work, Harry!” roars Hagrid as everyone except Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle cheered. “Okay, who else wants a go?” I was the first one over the fence.

Emboldened by Harry’s success, the rest of the class climbs cautiously into the paddock. Hagrid unties the hippogriffs one by one, and soon people are bowing nervously, all over the paddock. Neville runs repeatedly backward from his, which doesn’t seem to want to bend its knees. Ron, Hermione, and I practice on the chestnut, while Harry watched.

I actually got him to bow to me, and petting his beak has probably been one of the coolest things in my life.

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle have taken over Buckbeak. He has bowed to Malfoy, who is now patting his beak, looking disdainful. “This is very easy,” Malfoy drawls, loud enough for me to hear him. “I knew it must have been, if Potter could do it. . . . I bet you’re not dangerous at all, are you?” he says to the hippogriff. “Are you, you great ugly brute?” That wasn’t the right thing to say, and I wince in preparation for what’s going to happen.

It happens in a flash of steely talons; Malfoy lets out a high-pitched scream and next moment, Hagrid is wrestling Buckbeak back into his collar as he strains to get at Malfoy, who lays curled in the grass, blood blossoming over his robes. I don’t feel that bad at all for him the git didn’t pay attention and had no respect for Buckbeak whatever, he had it coming. Buckbeak is officially my favorite magical creature now.

“I’m dying!” Malfoy yells as the class panics. “I’m dying, look at me! It’s killed me!”

“Yer not dyin’!” says Hagrid, who has gone very white. “Someone help me — gotta get him outta here —”

Hermione runs to hold open the gate as Hagrid lifts Malfoy easily. As they pass, I see that there is a long, deep gash on Malfoy’s arm; blood splattered the grass and Hagrid runs with him, up the slope towards the castle.

Very shaken, the Care of Magical Creatures class follows at a walk. The Slytherins are all shouting about Hagrid.

“They should fire him straight away!” says Pansy Parkinson, who was in tears.

“They should expel you.” I mutter in retort.

“It was Malfoy’s fault!” snaps Dean Thomas. Crabbe and Goyle flex their muscles threateningly. We all climb the stone steps into the deserted entrance hall.

“I’m going to see if he’s okay!” says Pansy, and we all watch her run up the marble staircase. The Slytherins, still muttering about Hagrid, head away in the direction of their dungeon common room; Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I proceed upstairs to Gryffindor Tower.

“D’you think he’ll be all right?” says Hermione nervously.

“This is Malfoy we’re talking about, the smarmy weasel seems to have nine lives.” I say crossly.

“’Course he will. Madam Pomfrey can mend cuts in about a second,” says Harry, who has had far worse injuries mended magically by the nurse as well as I have.

“That was a really bad thing to happen in Hagrid’s first class, though, wasn’t it?” says Ron, looking worried. “Trust Malfoy to mess things up for him. . . .”

We are among the first to reach the Great Hall at dinnertime, hoping to see Hagrid, but he isn’t there. “They wouldn’t fire him, would they?” says Hermione anxiously, not touching her steak-and-kidney pudding.

“They’d better not,” growls Ron, who wasn’t eating either. Harry is watching the Slytherin table. A large group including Crabbe and Goyle is huddled together, deep in conversation. I’m sure they are cooking up their own version of how Malfoy had been injured.

“Well, you can’t say it wasn’t an interesting first day back,” comments Ron gloomily.

“Agreed.” I mutter into my pie. We go up to the crowded Gryffindor common room after dinner and try to do the homework Professor McGonagall has given us, but all of us keep breaking off and glancing out of the tower window.

“There’s a light on in Hagrid’s window,” I say suddenly. Ron looks at his watch.

“If we hurried, we could go down and see him. It’s still quite early. . . .” He says.

“I don’t know,” Hermione says slowly, and Harry sees her glance at him.

“I’m allowed to walk across the grounds,” he states pointedly. “Sirius Black hasn’t got past the dementors here, has he?” I shake my head. Hogwarts is one of the safest places to outside threats.

So we put our things away and head out of the portrait hole, glad not to meet anybody on our way to the front doors, as we aren’t entirely sure we are supposed to be out.

The grass is still wet and looks almost black in the twilight. When we reach Hagrid’s hut, we knock, and a voice growls, “C’min.”

Hagrid is sitting in his shirtsleeves at his scrubbed wooden table; his boarhound, Fang, has his head in Hagrid’s lap. One look tells me that Hagrid has been drinking a lot; there is a pewter tankard almost as big as a bucket in front of him, and he seems to be having difficulty getting us into focus.

“’Spect it’s a record,” he says thickly, when he recognizes us. “Don’ reckon they’ve ever had a teacher who lasted on’y a day before.”

“You haven’t been fired, Hagrid!” gasps Hermione. No this day has to be the worst ever!

“Not yet,” says Hagrid miserably, taking a huge gulp of whatever is in the tankard. “But ’s only a matter o’ time, i’n’t it, after Malfoy . . .”

“How is he?” says Ron as we all sit down. “It wasn’t serious, was it?”

“Madam Pomfrey fixed him best she could,” says Hagrid dully, “but he’s sayin’ it’s still agony . . . covered in bandages . . . moanin’ . . .” Oh Malfoy is the biggest baby I’ve ever seen. He even has Luka passed in my crybaby department, and Luka once fainted over the sight of a scraped knee!

“He’s faking it,” says Harry at once. “Madam Pomfrey can mend anything. She regrew half my bones last year. Trust Malfoy to milk it for all it’s worth.”

“School gov’nors have bin told, o’ course,” says Hagrid miserably. “They reckon I started too big. Shoulda left hippogriffs fer later . . . done flobberworms or summat. . . . Jus’ thought it’d make a good firs’ lesson. . . . ’S all my fault. . . .”

“It’s all Malfoy’s fault, Hagrid!” I say earnestly.

“We’re witnesses,” chips in Harry. “You said hippogriffs attack if you insult them. It’s Malfoy’s problem that he wasn’t listening. We’ll tell Dumbledore what really happened.”

“Of course Hagrid anything.” I tell him.

“Yeah, don’t worry, Hagrid, we’ll back you up,” says Ron. Tears leak out of the crinkled corners of Hagrid’s beetle-black eyes. He grabs both Harry and Ron and pulls them into a bone-breaking hug.

“I think you’ve had enough to drink, Hagrid,” says Hermione firmly. She takes the tankard from the table and goes outside to empty it.

“Ar, maybe she’s right,” says Hagrid, letting go of Harry and Ron, who both stagger away, rubbing their ribs. Hagrid heaves himself out of his chair and follows Hermione unsteadily outside. The three of us hear a loud splash.

“What’s he done?” asks Harry nervously as Hermione comes back in with the empty tankard.

“Stuck his head in the water barrel,” explains Hermione, putting the tankard away.

Hagrid comes back, his long hair and beard sopping wet, wiping the water out of his eyes.

“Tha’s better,” he says, shaking his head like a dog and drenching us all. “Listen, it was good of yeh ter come an’ see me, I really —”

Hagrid stops dead, staring at Harry as though he’s only just realized he is here.

“WHAT D’YEH THINK YOU’RE DOIN’, EH?” he roars, so suddenly that we jump a foot in the air. “YEH’RE NOT TO GO WANDERIN’ AROUND AFTER DARK, HARRY! AN’ YOU THREE! LETTIN’ HIM!” I wince at the level of his voice.

Hagrid strides over to Harry, grabs his arm, and pulls him to the door. “C’mon!” Hagrid says angrily. “I’m takin’ yer all back up ter school, an’ don’ let me catch yeh walkin’ down ter see me after dark again. I’m not worth that!”

Hermione, Ron, and I follow along behind the two of them not completely sure what to make of all of this. The only thing that I know is that Hogwarts is sure going to be interesting this year again, if the first day is anything to go by.


	5. The Boggart in the Wardrobe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

Chapter 5- The Boggart in the Wardrobe

 

Malfoy doesn’t reappear in classes until late on Thursday morning, when the Slytherins and Gryffindors are halfway through double Potions. He swaggers into the dungeon, his right arm covered in bandages and bound up in a sling, acting, in my opinion, as though he was the heroic survivor of some dreadful battle.

“How is it, Draco?” simpers Pansy Parkinson. “Does it hurt much?” Merlin when she does that she sounds like a Chihuahua with a nasal condition.

“Yeah,” says Malfoy, putting on a brave sort of grimace. But Harry and I see him wink at Crabbe and Goyle when Pansy has looked away.

“Settle down, settle down,” says Professor Snape idly. I simply roll my eyes as Harry and Ron shoot each other incredulous looks. If any one of the Gryffindors had walked in that later the dungeon bat that Snape is would have blown a gasket and given us detention.

But Malfoy has always been able to get away with anything in Snape’s classes; Snape is head of Slytherin House, and generally favors his own students above all others.

We are making a new potion today, a Shrinking Solution. Malfoy sets up his cauldron right next to Harry and Ron, so that they are preparing their ingredients on the same table. I watch on with cautious interest from the table behind them, where Hermione is coaching me slightly with the potion.

“Sir,” Malfoy calls, “sir, I’ll need help cutting up these daisy roots, because of my arm —” Oh why that little smarmy weasel I’ll give him something to complain about!

“Weasley, cut up Malfoy’s roots for him,” says Snape without looking up. Ron goes brick red.

“There’s nothing wrong with your arm,” Ron hisses at Malfoy. Malfoy smirks across the table. At this rate I’m glad that he’s not at our table for I’d probably already given Malfoy something to really cry about by now. I can’t stand that cretin!

“Weasley, you heard Professor Snape; cut up these roots.” Malfoy says arrogantly.

Ron seizes his knife, pulls Malfoy’s roots towards him, and begins to chop them roughly, so that they are all different sizes.

“Professor,” drawls Malfoy, “Weasley’s mutilating my roots, sir.” Snape approaches their table, stares down his hooked nose at the roots, then gives Ron an unpleasant smile from beneath his long, greasy black hair.

“Change roots with Malfoy, Weasley.” Snape orders.

“But, sir — !” Ron has spent the last quarter of an hour carefully shredding his own roots into exactly equal pieces.

“Now,” says Snape in his most dangerous voice. Ron shoves his own beautifully cut roots across the table at Malfoy, then takes up the knife again.

“And, sir, I’ll need this shrivelfig skinned,” says Malfoy, his voice full of malicious laughter.

“Potter, you can skin Malfoy’s shrivelfig,” says Snape, giving Harry the look of loathing he always reserves just for him.

Harry takes Malfoy’s shrivelfig as Ron begins trying to repair the damage to the roots he now has to use. Harry skins the shrivelfig as fast as he can and flings it back across the table at Malfoy without speaking. Malfoy is smirking more broadly than ever. And what I would give to be able to be the one to knock that smirk off his face!

“Seen your pal Hagrid lately?” he asks us quietly.

“None of your business,” I reply with clipped anger from behind them.

“I’m afraid he won’t be a teacher much longer,” says Malfoy in a tone of mock sorrow. “Father’s not very happy about my injury —”

“Keep talking, Malfoy, and I’ll give you a real injury,” snarls Ron.

“— he’s complained to the school governors. And to the Ministry of Magic. Father’s got a lot of influence, you know. And a lasting injury like this” — he gives a huge, fake sigh — “who knows if my arm’ll ever be the same again?”

“So that’s why you’re putting it on,” says Harry, accidentally beheading a dead caterpillar because his hand is shaking in anger. “To try to get Hagrid fired.”

“Well,” says Malfoy, lowering his voice to a whisper, “partly, Potter. But there are other benefits too. Weasley, slice my caterpillars for me.”

A few cauldrons away, Neville is in trouble. Neville regularly goes to pieces in Potions lessons; it is his worst subject, and his great fear of Professor Snape makes things ten times worse. His potion, which is supposed to be a bright, acid green, had turned —

“Orange, Longbottom,” says Snape, ladling some up and allowing it to splash back into the cauldron, so that everyone can see. “Orange. Tell me, boy, does anything penetrate that thick skull of yours? Didn’t you hear me say, quite clearly, that only one rat spleen was needed? Didn’t I state plainly that a dash of leech juice would suffice? What do I have to do to make you understand, Longbottom?”

Neville is pink and trembling. He looks as though he is on the verge of tears. That’s not right, a teacher should never treat their students this way. My potion is green maybe not exactly the correct color, so this potion is hard to make. Even Hermione doesn’t have it a hundred percent correct yet. I glare at the back of Snape’s head hoping the he can feel it.

“Please, sir,” says Hermione, “please, I could help Neville put it right —”

“I don’t remember asking you to show off, Miss Granger,” snaps Snape coldly, and Hermione goes as pink as Neville. “Longbottom, at the end of this lesson we will feed a few drops of this potion to your toad and see what happens. Perhaps that will encourage you to do it properly.”

Snape moves away, leaving Neville breathless with fear. “Help me!” he moans to Hermione. I can’t believe what a git he is being today. There are some days when Snape is merely an obnoxious bother, but today he has been taking it way too far.

“Hey, Harry,” says Seamus Finnigan, leaning over to borrow Harry’s brass scales, “have you heard? Daily Prophet this morning — they reckon Sirius Black’s been sighted.”

“Where?” asks Harry and Ron quickly. On the other side of the table, Malfoy looks up, listening closely.

“Not too far from here,” says Seamus, who looks excited. “It was a Muggle who saw him. ’Course, she didn’t really understand. The Muggles think he’s just an ordinary criminal, don’t they? So she phoned the telephone hot line. By the time the Ministry of Magic got there, he was gone.”

“Not too far from here . . . ,” Ron repeats, looking significantly at Harry. He turns around and sees Malfoy watching closely. “What, Malfoy? Need something else skinned?”

“I can think of quite a few things, starting with that peroxide wig on his head.” I mutter angrily while stirring my potion. Hermione can’t help but snort a laugh from beside me.

But Malfoy’s eyes are shining malevolently, and they are fixed on Harry. He leans across the table.

“Thinking of trying to catch Black single-handed, Potter?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” says Harry offhandedly. Malfoy’s thin mouth is curving in a mean smile.

“Of course, if it was me,” he says quietly, “I’d have done something before now. I wouldn’t be staying in school like a good boy, I’d be out there looking for him.”

“What are you talking about, Malfoy?” says Ron roughly.

“Don’t you know, Potter?” breathes Malfoy, his pale eyes narrow.

“Know what?” Harry growls out. Malfoy lets out a low, sneering laugh.

“Maybe you’d rather not risk your neck,” he says. “Want to leave it to the dementors, do you? But if it was me, I’d want revenge. I’d hunt him down myself.”

“What are you talking about?” demands Harry angrily, but at that moment Snape calls, “You should have finished adding your ingredients by now; this potion needs to stew before it can be drunk, so clear away while it simmers and then we’ll test Longbottom’s. . . .”

Great this isn’t going to end well. I look over at my two tablemates to see how they are faring.

Dumb and Dumber laugh openly, watching Neville sweat as he stirs his potion feverishly. Hermione is muttering instructions to him out of the corner of her mouth, so that Snape wouldn’t see. Harry, Ron, and I pack away our unused ingredients and go to wash our hands and ladles in the stone basin in the corner.

“What did Malfoy mean?” Harry mutters to us as he sticks his hands under the icy jet that pours from the gargoyle’s mouth. “Why would I want revenge on Black? He hasn’t done anything to me — yet.”

“He’s making it up,” I tell Harry. “He’s trying to make you do something stupid. . . .”

The end of the lesson in sight, Snape strides over to Neville, who is cowering by his cauldron.

“Everyone gather ’round,” says Snape, his black eyes glittering, “and watch what happens to Longbottom’s toad. If he has managed to produce a Shrinking Solution, it will shrink to a tadpole. If, as I don’t doubt, he has done it wrong, his toad is likely to be poisoned.”

The Gryffindors watch fearfully. I have my fingers crossed that Mione was able to help him. The Slytherins look excited. Snape picks up Trevor the toad in his left hand and dips a small spoon into Neville’s potion, which is now green. He trickles a few drops down Trevor’s throat.

There is a moment of hushed silence, in which Trevor gulps; then there is a small pop, and Trevor the tadpole is wriggling in Snape’s palm.

The Gryffindors burst into applause. Hah! In your face Snape! Snape, looking sour, pulls a small bottle from the pocket of his robe, pours a few drops on top of Trevor, and he reappears suddenly, fully grown.

“Five points from Gryffindor,” says Snape, which wipes the smiles from every face. “I told you not to help him, Miss Granger. Class dismissed.” I growl underneath my breath about the unfairness of it all and how all Slytherins must be born with a mean streak a mile long.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I climb the steps to the entrance hall. Harry is still thinking about what Malfoy has said, while Ron is seething about Snape.

“Five points from Gryffindor because the potion was all right! Why didn’t you lie, Hermione? You should’ve said Neville did it all by himself!” Hermione doesn’t answer. Ron and I look around.

“Where is she?” I cry shocked at her sudden disappearance. Harry turns too. We are at the top of the steps now, watching the rest of the class pass us, heading for the Great Hall and lunch.

“She was right behind us,” says Ron, frowning. Malfoy passes us, walking between Crabbe and Goyle. He smirks at Harry and disappears.

“There she is,” Harry points out. Hermione is panting slightly, hurrying up the stairs; one hand clutching her bag, the other seems to be tucking something down the front of her robes.

That’s weird. How did she get there? “How did you do that?” says Ron.

“What?” says Hermione, joining us.

“One minute you were right behind us, the next moment, you were back at the bottom of the stairs again.” I explain looking her over closely.

“What?” Hermione looks slightly confused. “Oh — I had to go back for something. Oh no —”

A seam has split on Hermione’s bag. I’m not surprised; I can see that it is crammed with at least a dozen large and heavy books.

“Why are you carrying all these around with you?” Ron asks her.

“You know how many subjects I’m taking,” says Hermione breathlessly. “Couldn’t hold these for me, could you?” She shoves some into Ron’s hands and some into mine.

“But —” Ron is turning over the books she had hands him, looking at the covers. “You haven’t got any of these subjects today. It’s only Defense Against the Dark Arts this afternoon.”

Okay something is definitely going on with Hermione, and I’m not going to rest until I find out what it is exactly.

“Oh yes,” says Hermione vaguely, but she packs all the books back into her bag just the same. “I hope there’s something good for lunch, I’m starving,” she adds, and she marches off toward the Great Hall.

“D’you get the feeling Hermione’s not telling us something?” Ron asks Harry and me.

“You’ve got that feeling too huh?” I comment starting after her with Harry and Ron scrambling to catch up with me.

* * *

 

Professor Lupin isn’t there when we arrive at his first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson. We all sit down, take out our books, quills, and parchment, and are talking when he finally enters the room. Lupin smiles vaguely and places his tatty old briefcase on the teacher’s desk. He is as shabby as ever but looks healthier than he had on the train, as though he has had a few square meals.

“Good afternoon,” he says. “Would you please put all your books back in your bags. Today’s will be a practical lesson. You will need only your wands.” Oh Merlin! Is this actually happening?

A few curious looks are exchanged as the class puts away our books. We have never had a practical Defense Against the Dark Arts before, unless you count the memorable class last year when Lockhart the dunce had brought a cageful of pixies to class and set them loose.

“Right then,” says Professor Lupin, when everyone is ready. “If you’d follow me.”

Puzzled but interested, the class gets to its feet and follows Professor Lupin out of the classroom. He leads them along the deserted corridor and around a corner, where the first thing they see is Peeves the Poltergeist, who is floating upside down in midair and stuffing the nearest keyhole with chewing gum.

Peeves doesn’t look up until Professor Lupin is two feet away; then he wiggles his curly-toed feet and breaks into song.

“Loony, loopy Lupin,” Peeves sings. “Loony, loopy Lupin, loony, loopy Lupin —”

Rude and unmanageable as he almost always was, Peeves usually shows some respect towards the teachers. Everyone looks quickly at Professor Lupin to see how he will take this; to their surprise, he is still smiling.

“I’d take that gum out of the keyhole if I were you, Peeves,” he says pleasantly. “Mr. Filch won’t be able to get in to his brooms.”

Filch is the Hogwarts caretaker, a bad-tempered, failed wizard who wages a constant war against the students and, indeed, Peeves. However, Peeves pays no attention to Professor Lupin’s words, except to blow a loud wet raspberry.

Professor Lupin gives a small sigh and takes out his wand.

“This is a useful little spell,” he tells the class over his shoulder. “Please watch closely.” He raises the wand to shoulder height, says, “Waddiwasi!” and points it at Peeves.

With the force of a bullet, the wad of chewing gum shoots out of the keyhole and straight down Peeves’s left nostril; he whirls upright and zooms away, cursing.

“Cool, sir!” says Dean Thomas in amazement.

“I’ve got to learn that spell!” I cry.

“Thank you, Dean, and all in good time Jamie” says Professor Lupin, putting his wand away again. “Shall we proceed?” I nod my head in glorified amazement. Maybe this whole DADA class thing won’t be so bad after all.

We set off again, the class looking at shabby Professor Lupin with increasing respect. He leads us down a second corridor and stops, right outside the staffroom door.

“Inside, please,” says Professor Lupin, opening it and standing back. The staffroom, a long, paneled room full of old, mismatched chairs, is empty except for one teacher. Professor Snape is sitting in a low armchair, and he looks around as the class files in. His eyes are glittering and there is a nasty sneer playing around his mouth. As Professor Lupin comes in and makes to close the door behind him, Snape says, “Leave it open, Lupin. I’d rather not witness this.”

That’s perfectly fine with me Snape I’d rather not see you anymore today either. He gets to his feet and strides past the class, his black robes billowing behind him. At the doorway he turns on his heel and says, “Possibly no one’s warned you, Lupin, but this class contains Neville Longbottom. I would advise you not to entrust him with anything difficult. Not unless Miss Granger is hissing instructions in his ear.”

Neville goes scarlet. I glare at Snape; it is bad enough that he bullies Neville in his own classes, let alone doing it in front of other teachers. Professor Lupin has raised his eyebrows.

“I was hoping that Neville would assist me with the first stage of the operation,” he says, “and I am sure he will perform it admirably.”

Neville’s face goes, if possible, even redder. Snape’s lip curls, but he leaves, shutting the door with a snap.

“Now, then,” says Professor Lupin, beckoning the class towards the end of the room, where there is nothing but an old wardrobe where the teachers keep their spare robes. As Professor Lupin goes to stand next to it, the wardrobe gives a sudden wobble, banging off the wall.

“Nothing to worry about,” says Professor Lupin calmly because a few people have jumped backwards in alarm. “There’s a boggart in there.”

Most people seem to feel that this is something to worry about. Neville gives Professor Lupin a look of pure terror, and Seamus Finnigan eyes the now rattling doorknob apprehensively. Great I didn’t know that we would be messing with one of these today.

I had a boggart in my toy chest when I was younger. I went to go and get my replica Quidditch player and then bam! “Boggarts like dark, enclosed spaces,” says Professor Lupin. “Wardrobes, the gap beneath beds, the cupboards under sinks — I once met one that had lodged itself in a grandfather clock. This one moved in yesterday afternoon, and I asked the headmaster if the staff would leave it to give my third years some practice.”

“So, the first question we must ask ourselves is, what is a boggart?” Hermione puts up her hand.

“It’s a shape-shifter,” she says. “It can take the shape of whatever it thinks will frighten us most.” I could have told him that.

“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” says Professor Lupin, and Hermione glows. “So the boggart sitting in the darkness within has not yet assumed a form. He does not yet know what will frighten the person on the other side of the door. Nobody knows what a boggart looks like when he is alone, but when I let him out, he will immediately become whatever each of us most fears.

“This means,” says Professor Lupin, choosing to ignore Neville’s small sputter of terror, “that we have a huge advantage over the boggart before we begin. Have you spotted it, Harry?”

I glance over at my best friend who looks a little bit lost. Trying to answer a question with Hermione next to him, bobbing up and down on the balls of her feet with her hand in the air, is very off-putting, but Harry has a go.

“Er — because there are so many of us, it won’t know what shape it should be?”

“Precisely,” says Professor Lupin, and Hermione puts her hand down, looking a little disappointed. “It’s always best to have company when you’re dealing with a boggart. He becomes confused. Which should he become, a headless corpse or a flesh-eating slug? I once saw a boggart make that very mistake — tried to frighten two people at once and turned himself into half a slug. Not remotely frightening.”

I chuckle at the image that I’m getting from that. Who knows there might be a person out there who’s very terrified of the image of half a slug. I’m going to have to test that out.

“The charm that repels a boggart is simple, yet it requires force of mind. You see, the thing that really finishes a boggart is laughter. What you need to do is force it to assume a shape that you find amusing.”

“We will practice the charm without wands first. After me, please . . . Riddikulus!”

“Riddikulus!” says the class together.

“Good,” says Professor Lupin. “Very good. But that was the easy part, I’m afraid. You see, the word alone is not enough. And this is where you come in, Neville.”

The wardrobe shakes again, though not as much as Neville, who walks forward as though he is heading for the gallows.

“Right, Neville,” says Professor Lupin. “First things first: What would you say is the thing that frightens you most in the world?” Neville’s lips move, but no noise comes out.

“Didn’t catch that, Neville, sorry,” says Professor Lupin cheerfully.

Neville looks around rather wildly, as though begging someone to help him, then says, in barely more than a whisper, “Professor Snape.”

This is going to be priceless. I can’t help but snicker at that. Nearly everyone laughs. Even Neville grins apologetically. Professor Lupin, however, looks thoughtful.

“Professor Snape . . . hmmm . . . Neville, I believe you live with your grandmother?”

“Er — yes,” says Neville nervously. “But — I don’t want the boggart to turn into her either.”

“No, no, you misunderstand me,” says Professor Lupin, now smiling. “I wonder, could you tell us what sort of clothes your grandmother usually wears?”

Neville looks startled, but says, “Well . . . always the same hat. A tall one with a stuffed vulture on top. And a long dress . . . green, normally . . . and sometimes a fox-fur scarf.” Oh well isn’t that a lovely fashion sense?

“And a handbag?” prompts Professor Lupin.

“A big red one,” says Neville.

“Right then,” says Professor Lupin. “Can you picture those clothes very clearly, Neville? Can you see them in your mind’s eye?”

“Yes,” says Neville uncertainly, plainly wondering what was coming next.

“When the boggart bursts out of this wardrobe, Neville, and sees you, it will assume the form of Professor Snape,” says Lupin. “And you will raise your wand — thus — and cry ‘Riddikulus’ — and concentrate hard on your grandmother’s clothes. If all goes well, Professor Boggart Snape will be forced into that vulture-topped hat, and that green dress, with that big red handbag.”

There is a great shout of laughter. The wardrobe wobbles more violently. Okay this should be interesting. “If Neville is successful, the boggart is likely to shift his attention to each of us in turn,” says Professor Lupin. “I would like all of you to take a moment now to think of the thing that scares you most, and imagine how you might force it to look comical. . . .”

Great what frightens me the most, well there’s Voldemort, Fluffy, Aragog, the list is just countless. “Everyone ready?” says Professor Lupin.

I feel a lurch of fear. I’m not ready. How could you make a any one of those less frightening? But I don’t want to ask for more time; everyone else is nodding and rolling up their sleeves.

“Neville, we’re going to back away,” says Professor Lupin. “Let you have a clear field, all right? I’ll call the next person forward. . . . Everyone back, now, so Neville can get a clear shot —”

“On the count of three, Neville,” says Professor Lupin, who is pointing his own wand at the handle of the wardrobe. “One — two — three — now!”

A jet of sparks shoots from the end of Professor Lupin’s wand and hits the doorknob. The wardrobe bursts open. Hook-nosed and menacing, Professor Snape steps out, his eyes flashing at Neville.

Neville backs away, his wand up, mouthing wordlessly. Snape is bearing down upon him, reaching inside his robes. “R-R-Riddikulus!” squeaks Neville.

There is a noise like a whip crack. Snape stumbles; he is wearing a long, lace-trimmed dress and a towering hat topped with a moth-eaten vulture, and he is swinging a huge crimson handbag.

There is a roar of laughter; the boggart pauses, confused, and Professor Lupin shouts, “Parvati! Forward!”

Parvati walks forward, her face set. Snape rounds on her. There is another crack, and where he had stood is a blood-stained, bandaged mummy; its sightless face is turned to Parvati and it begins to walk toward her very slowly, dragging its feet, its stiff arms rising —

“Riddikulus!” cries Parvati. A bandage unraveles at the mummy’s feet; it becomes entangled, falls face forward, and its head rolls off.

“Seamus!” roars Professor Lupin. Seamus darts past Parvati.

Crack! Where the mummy had been is a woman with floor-length black hair and a skeletal, green-tinged face — a banshee. She opens her mouth wide and an unearthly sound fills the room, a long, wailing shriek that makes the hair on my head stand on end —

“Riddikulus!” shouts Seamus. The banshee makes a rasping noise and clutched her throat; her voice is gone.

Crack! The banshee turns into a rat, which chases its tail in a circle, then — crack! — becomes a rattlesnake, which slithers and writhed before — crack! — becoming a single, bloody eyeball.

“It’s confused!” shouts Lupin. “We’re getting there! Dean!” Dean hurries forward. “Crack! The eyeball becomes a severed hand, which flips over and begins to creep along the floor like a crab.

“Riddikulus!” yells Dean. There is a snap, and the hand is trapped in a mousetrap.

“Excellent! Ron, you next!” Ron leaps forward.

Crack!

Quite a few people scream. A giant spider, six feet tall and covered in hair, is advancing on Ron, clicking its pincers menacingly. For a moment, I think Ron has frozen. Then —

“Riddikulus!” bellows Ron, and the spider’s legs vanish; it rolls over and over; Lavender Brown squeals and runs out of its way and it comes to a halt at my feet.

Suddenly where what used to be a legless spider is now a fully grown man who is hunched over slightly. He is wearing the same threadbare clothes from my dream. His long sandy hair is matted in a few places and, his shoulders shake as he begins to emit a raspy shaky laugh.

I’m frozen where I stand my eyes wide, and glued on the boggart. It can’t be… but another laugh makes me startle in fear. “I knew it… I just knew that I would find you. There’s no hiding from me Jamie, I found you just like I found them, and it won’t be any trouble to find Luka.” Augustus says snapping his head up and holding my gaze blue eyes to blue eyes.

My wand falls to the floor. No, no this can’t be happening. More manically happy laughter echoes through the dead silent room. “That’s enough!” Professor Lupin cries jumping in front of me and blocking the boggart from my sight. Shaking I grip my wand as tight as I can, and turn on my heel, streaking out of the classroom and away from everyone.

* * *

 

I don’t have any particular direction in which I’m running but all I know is that I want to get as far away as possible from the staffroom and the boggart of Augustus inside. Why did it have to be him? Why couldn’t it have been Voldemort or Aragog for crying out loud! Not the one person who has been haunting my dreams since the end of last year!

I finally come to a stop out in the courtyard gasping for breath because I had run all the way here. Now Harry, Ron, and Hermione have all seen him. They’re going to want to know who he is and what exactly happened. I don’t think that I can take that!

“Jamie?” A voice questions and I jump about a foot in the air because I’m not expecting anyone to be here. I whirl around in shock, but stop and heave a sigh of relief when I see that it’s only Ariana standing there.

“H-hey Ariana.” I stutter lamely. Her brown eyes hold me in a penetrating stare. I shuffle my feet nervously.

“What’s wrong Jamie? You’ve been crying, I can tell.” She says softly coming closer to me. I have been crying? I didn’t notice that. I back up a step not wanting her to come any closer.

“I-its nothing Ariana just been a long day that’s all.” I lie hoping that she’ll let me off the hook just this once. Ariana sighs softly and closes the distance between the two of us, wrapping her arms around me in a firm hug. I stiffen for a moment not exactly sure how to respond to her gesture, but before I can second guess myself I wrap my arms around her securely, and allow my tears to fall onto her robes.

“I am here for you Jamie, if you ever want to talk. You are my friend, and I do care about you please remember that.” She tells me softly rubbing my back comfortingly. I don’t know how long that we stand there but all to soon it seems I hear someone else clearing their throat.

Ariana pulls away from me, and I have the insane feeling that I should reach out for her so that she can protect me. Before me I see the worried faces of Ron, Hermione, and Harry. They look slightly out of breath.

“There you are Jamie, we’ve been looking all over the bloody castle for you!” Ron cries. I wince a little at all the trouble that I’ve put my friends through.

“Are you all right Jamie? I was worried about you when you ran out of the classroom. You’re not in trouble with Professor Lupin by the way, he’s only worried about you.” Hermione tells me giving me a comforting smile.

I give her a wobbly smile in return. “What was that back there Jamie? That man, he knew things about you and your brother, you wouldn’t have reacted that way to him unless you know him.” Harry tells me seriously. He has his solemn protector face on and I wince internally knowing what that signals.

I turn my gaze to Ariana pleading with her to leave me alone with my friends for a little while. She nods. “I’ll see you later Jamie if you want to talk. You know where to find me.” She says bidding farewell to my friends, as she turns and slips back inside the castle.

I shuffle my feet nervously and wring my hands. “I-I guess that you want to know what went on back there?” I say softly. My friends nod their heads expectantly. Ron looks confused, Hermione worried, and Harry looks determined.

“Well there’s some things that happened at the end of last year that I haven’t really told you guys about. Things that happened when I was taken by Riddle.” I start nervously. Harry and Ron wince, and Hermione frowns.

“He… he said that he had wanted to talk to me as well as you Harry. Riddle wanted me to know the truth, to have people stop lying to me. I-I didn’t believe him at first, but then I asked Kingsley about it, and it is true. That man that you saw back there… his name is Augustus Pendragon, and he is my u-uncle.” I finish shaking slightly at the admission.

I can hear shocked gasps coming from my friends but I refuse to look at them. “But Jamie, you don’t have an uncle all of the books say that your father was an only child!” Hermione objects. I grit my teeth and shake my head daring to glance up to see her eyes.

“Books can lie Hermione especially books about my family. They had the history books changed after what my uncle did. See the Pendragons are a symbol of wizarding heritage and royalty, you don’t want to show that they can turn bad just like any other wizard out there.” I say.

“When my father was still a fourth year here at Hogwarts his older brother Augustus had just graduated. My grandparents were so proud of him but Augustus didn’t turn out to be the type of son that they were expecting him to be. He was a Slytherin and fascinated in the Dark Arts. I guess that you can tell where this is all going.”

“When he got out of school he joined the Death Eaters, and became closer to Voldemort, that’s how Riddle knew about him. My grandmother died, and my grandfather didn’t condone what Augustus was doing neither did my father. Augustus didn’t like that and he ended up… he… killed my grandfather.” I say blinking my eyes to stop the tears from coming.

More shocked gasps and disbelieving huffs come from them. “After he killed my grandfather, my father made it his goal to bring Augustus to justice. Well his plans got a little derailed when my mother became pregnant with my brother and me. My father abandoned his quest to protect his family. That worked for three years until Augustus found us, and killed my parents with other Death Eaters.”

“That’s how I ended up with Kingsley, my parents trusted him to take care of my brother and me. After he killed them he was caught along with all the other death eaters, and thrown into Azkeban. So that’s who the boggart was of. Augustus still wants to kill Luka and me, and Kingsley knew about all this and lied to us, so now things aren’t that great with him either!”

“So there! That’s all of it. I have no more secrets!” I cry crossing my arms to try and provide some comfort to my suddenly cold body. The weight of the secrets has been lifted off my shoulders, but the looks on my friends’ faces now are anything but comforting.

“So you’ve known about this for the whole summer and you didn’t think to tell us!” Ron cries glaring at me crossly.

“Don’t you trust us to help you out with this kind of stuff?” Hermione demands hurt plain in her voice.

“I do…” I say but I’m cut off by Harry.

“We can’t keep secrets like this from each other Jamie. People like your uncle can hurt us and if we don’t know about them then we can’t help you. I trust you with everything, yet you can’t do the same in return. You know what, I can’t do this right now.” Harry says angrily and throws his hands up turning away to go back to the castle.

“I thought that we are your friends.” Ron says running after Harry. I turn my watery gaze pleadingly at Hermione begging for her to understand why I couldn’t have told her in the first place.

“I-I just don’t understand Jamie, I thought that we are best friends. We tell each other everything!” Hermione cries tears in her eyes as well.

“Of course we are Mione! W-we still are!” I plead.

“I-I’m sorry Jamie, but I just need some time!” She says hurrying after Ron and Harry. I’m left standing there in the courtyard watching my three best friends in the world leave me through blurry eyes. I collapse down onto bench and put my face into my hands, and start to sob.

With a flutter of feathers Dionysus lands beside me, and hoots mournfully at me. I know the feeling buddy.

 

 

_Dear Mrs. Weasley,_

_You told me at King’s Cross that I could contact you if I ever needed you. Well… I sort of need you now. I don’t know what to do. Harry, Ron, and Hermione are mad at me and they won’t speak to me at the moment. My brother is in a different house than me and he thinks that I should have already told them, but I didn’t. I’m so alone Mrs. Weasley. I’m used to it but I at least had my brother then. Now I’m in this big castle filled with people and I’ve never been more lonely._

_I’m sorry for writing to you about this but I just don’t know what to do anymore. I’ve explained why we fought on the second page of this letter in case you were wondering. Well I’m sorry for taking up you’re time, and thank you for reading my letter, it means a lot to me._

_I should get back. I have class early tomorrow._

_Thank you for reading my letter,_

_Jamie Pendragon_


	6. Flight of the Fat Lady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

Chapter 6- Flight of the Fat Lady

 

In no time at all, Defense Against the Dark Arts has become most people’s favorite class. Only Draco Malfoy and his gang of Slytherins have anything bad to say about Professor Lupin.

“Look at the state of his robes,” Malfoy would say in a loud whisper as Professor Lupin passed. “He dresses like our old house-elf.”

Things had been pretty different for me around the castle for the last few days. My friends… well they didn’t seem to want to be exactly friends with me at the time. When I went to sit with them at dinner that following night after our fight, they had stopped talking and the boys had glared at me, while Hermione wouldn’t meet my gaze.

So I ended up going to sit with Fred, George, and their friend Lee Jordan. I had gotten a few curious looks from them at first, but when I asked what they’d been up to they soon forgot about the oddness of me sitting with them. Classes were a little harder to bear without my friends.

Defense Against the Dark Arts and its cool subjects weren’t even enough to keep me truly happy. After boggarts, we study Red Caps, nasty little goblinlike creatures that lurk wherever there has been bloodshed: in the dungeons of castles and the potholes of deserted battlefields, waiting to bludgeon those who had gotten lost. From Red Caps we move on to kappas, creepy water-dwellers that look like scaly monkeys, with webbed hands itching to strangle unwitting waders in their ponds.

Everyone seems to know now that I’m not in the good graces of my friends anymore and they happen to whisper about me behind my back. They say that I must have done something really horrible to them in order for them to not want to be my friend anymore.

Most nights when everyone is hanging out in the common room I check to see if maybe they want to talk and see if we can still be friends, but they never look my way, and pretend that I’m not there when I try and talk to them. So usually I head up to my dorm room, and crawl onto my bed pulling the curtains around it so that none of the others can see me cry.

That doesn’t stop Lavender and Parvati from making scathing comments about me while in our room. Rachel our other dorm mate tries to tell them that its not nice to talk about me like that, but it never stops them. I had also given up on trying to talk to Hermione a few nights ago.

I don’t really understand what I did that was so wrong though. It was information about my own life that I was withholding, and it only affects my family. It has already destroyed my home life, and now it seems that its going to ruin my school life as well.

There have been some good things to come out of this exile though, I’ve come to work with Neville in most of my classes since no one ever really wants to sit with him, and now my friends don’t want to sit with me. As I’ve gotten to talking with him more, I’ve come to realize that he’s an insanely sweet boy that just has some confidence issues.

When talking about his home life living with his Gran I realize that he’s a lot like me never actually having any real friends. When I’m not in class at the beginning of our separation I would idly wander the corridors hoping not to run into Filch. That is until I ran into Ariana one day as she was coming out of the library.

She had taken one look at the desolate closed off look on my face, and was able to piece together what had happened, so that night I spent time down in the kitchens with the young Dumbledore eating ice cream as I explained to her the reason why we had fought.

Ariana hadn’t gotten upset with me or my brother for not having told her, she only held me as I cried, and promised that everything would get better. After that night I spent most I my free time hanging out with her and her friends Hannah Abbot and Susan Bones.

They are nice girls but I really missed my own friends though. The day after I had told Ariana about what happened she went and told Luka about what had happened. I had managed to catch him as he was about to storm Gryffindor table in the Great Hall and chew my friends out for abandoning me for something that wasn’t in my control.

Thankfully I managed to calm him down with a promise that I would be okay. Luka had only been abated when I promised him that I would be fine and that it would blow over. The Weasley twins bless them became aware that something was amiss when I ended up eating with them for four straight meals, and they noticed that the others wouldn’t talk to me.

Fred wanted to jinx them until they were blue in the face, and George tried to use the slug vomiting charm on them, but I had managed to get them to drop it, though Harry, Ron, and Hermione, had been turning up pranked more often, and the twins are icing them out.

I don’t really care though. All I want is for us to be friends again. I promise that I’d never keep a secret from them again! It didn’t seem to matter though for I went to bed early again tonight with nothing to do but cry silently to myself.

* * *

 

Classes besides DADA weren’t going all that well either. Snape has been an arse since the whole becoming a boggart incident and poor Neville has been being bullied in that class anymore, and that leaves me to wipe up the tears afterwards since I’ve seemed to become his partner.

Divination isn’t all that fun anymore since I don’t have anyone to laugh at all the outlandish things that I’ve come up with. For some odd reason still Professor Trelawney still seems to think that I’m some great gift to divination though. If I’m what constitutes greatness in this field, then I worry for all wizard kind.

Just like me Hagrid has seemed to lose his confidence while teaching our Care of Magical Creatures class. We’ve started taking care of flobberworms, which pretty much do nothing. Now that I’m not apart of my group anymore, the Slytherins have started picking on me more as well, especially Malfoy.

“I guess Potter came to his senses then, and realized you for what you are useless!” Malfoy jeers at me one class time. Hagrid had overheard him and put him in his place with a detention though. I was grateful for him for I haven’t had the heart to put him in his place for a while.

Hagrid had looked to Ron, Hermione, and Harry to comfort me but they were minding their own business a few groups away with their own worms. I just gave Hagrid a small smile to let him know that it was okay. He didn’t look like it was okay, but it really was.

At the start of October, however, I have something else to occupy me, something so enjoyable it makes up a little bit for how upsetting my life had suddenly become. The Quidditch season is approaching, and Oliver Wood, Captain of the Gryffindor team, calls a meeting one Thursday evening to discuss tactics for the new season.

The only part that worries me though is that Harry’s on the team and we’ve haven’t really talked since that afternoon when everything went down. I think that its safe to say that Harry sat as far away from me as he could, and I resigned myself to sitting with my fellow chasers Katie Bell and Angelina Johnson.

Its not that I don’t like them, its just that we never really hang out aside from Quidditch.

Oliver Wood is a burly seventeen-year-old, now in his seventh and final year at Hogwarts. There is a quiet sort of desperation in his voice as he addresses his six fellow team members in the chilly locker rooms on the edge of the darkening Quidditch field.

“This is our last chance — my last chance — to win the Quidditch Cup,” he tells us, striding up and down in front of us. “I’ll be leaving at the end of this year. I’ll never get another shot at it.

“Gryffindor hasn’t won for seven years now. Okay, so we’ve had the worst luck in the world — injuries — then the tournament getting called off last year. . . .” Wood swallows, as though the memory still brings a lump to his throat. “But we also know we’ve got the best — ruddy — team — in — the — school,” he says, punching a fist into his other hand, the old manic glint back in his eye.

“We’ve got three superb Chasers.” Wood points at Angelina Johnson, Katie Bell, and me.

“We’ve got two unbeatable Beaters.”

“Stop it, Oliver, you’re embarrassing us,” say Fred and George Weasley together, pretending to blush. I manage to crack a small smile at their antics.

“And we’ve got a Seeker who has never failed to win us a match!” Wood rumbles, glaring at Harry with a kind of furious pride. “And me,” he ads as an afterthought. I glance at Harry agreeing silently with Wood’s assessment of my friend—maybe friend?

“We think you’re very good too, Oliver,” says George. I nod my head as well.

“Spanking good Keeper,” agrees Fred.

“The point is,” Wood goes on, resuming his pacing, “the Quidditch Cup should have had our name on it these last two years. Ever since Harry joined the team, I’ve thought the thing was in the bag. But we haven’t got it, and this year’s the last chance we’ll get to finally see our name on the thing. . . .”

Wood speaks so dejectedly that even Fred and George look sympathetic. “Oliver, this year’s our year,” says Fred.

“We’ll do it, Oliver!” sounds Angelina.

“Definitely,” pitches in Harry. Silently I add my agreement to their voices.

Full of determination, the team starts training sessions, three evenings a week. The weather is getting colder and wetter, the nights darker, but no amount of mud, wind, or rain can tarnish my wonderful vision of finally winning the huge, silver Quidditch Cup and hopefully with my friends around me.

I return to the Gryffindor common room one evening after training, cold and stiff but pleased with the way practice had gone, to find the room buzzing excitedly. I hang around the stairway to the girls dormitory to see if I can hear anything before I head up to take a nice warm shower to warm up.

I overhear Harry ask Ron and Hermione what is going on when he joins them. I had given him a five-minute head start back to the tower before joining him. “First Hogsmeade weekend,” I overhear Ron say, pointing at a notice that has appeared on the battered old bulletin board. “End of October. Halloween.”

“Excellent,” says Fred, who had followed me through the portrait hole. “I need to visit Zonko’s. I’m nearly out of Stink Pellets.” I can only imagine what they are going to do with those. The group starts talking about Sirius Black and the chances of Harry getting to go to Hogsmeade.

I feel out of place standing there listening in on a conversation that’s obviously not meant for me to be a part of. I shift weight to another foot realizing that I should go and get cleaned up, so like usual I disappear up the steps. I quickly change out of my dirty sweaty Quidditch clothes and hop into the shower. The warm water feels good on my cold body.

I allow myself to indulge in a few small tears going free since I have promised myself that I won’t cry anymore. It doesn’t count since there’s water running over my face as well right?

After my shower I changed straight into my pajamas that have tiny owls all over them, and climb into my bed, pulling the curtains around it like I do every night, hoping that they’ll shield me from any unwanted mean words tonight. I lay down and pull out a small bundle of letter from inside my pillowcase underneath my pillow.

There’s quite the small collection of responses from Mrs. Weasley who I’ve been writing to over my past few weeks or so. She’s been asking me what’s the matter since I’ve been writing to her a lot more over the recent weeks, and for the fact that I’m mentioned less or not at all in Ron’s letters to her.

I have not told her about what’s been happening with the three of them since the first letter to her. I don’t want to get Ron in trouble if I tell her the truth; I still distinctly remember the howler threat from early September. My fingers itch to pick up a quill and write her another letter, but I stop myself firmly telling myself that Mrs. Weasley has better things to do than read letters from a girl who isn’t even her own kid.

So I shove my letters back into my pillowcase, and roll over in bed fighting back the need to cry. Eventually I manage to fall asleep as my aching body and mind take over.

* * *

 

The next day I can see that Ron and Hermione have had a fight. I can tell it in the way that they won’t talk to each other at all during breakfast or in Herbology, and for the fact that everyone in our house is talking about the big fight that they’ve had over Scabbers and Crookshanks. I have to say though that the big orange cat has grown on me.

When Hermione’s not in the room he hops up onto my bed and cuddles with me. I’ve only ever really cuddled with Sophocles before but Crookshanks has slowly made his way into my heart, so I can understand why Hermione is so adamant about defending the furball.

Outside of Transfiguration there’s a commotion from the front of the line. I decide to listen in to see what its all about. Lavender Brown seems to be crying. Parvati has her arm around her and is explaining something to Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, who are looking very serious.

“What’s the matter, Lavender?” says Hermione anxiously as she, Harry, and Ron go join the group.

“She got a letter from home this morning,” Parvati whispers. “It’s her rabbit, Binky. He’s been killed by a fox.”

“Oh,” says Hermione, “I’m sorry, Lavender.”

“I should have known!” says Lavender tragically. “You know what day it is?”

“Er —”

“The sixteenth of October! ‘That thing you’re dreading, it will happen on the sixteenth of October!’ Remember? She was right, she was right!” Oh great now one of Professor Trelawney’s predictions have come true, the world is going to end!

The whole class is gathered around Lavender now. Seamus shakes his head seriously. Hermione hesitates; then she says, “You — you were dreading Binky being killed by a fox?”

“Well, not necessarily by a fox,” says Lavender, looking up at Hermione with streaming eyes, “but I was obviously dreading him dying, wasn’t I?”

“Oh,” says Hermione. She pauses again. Then —

“Was Binky an old rabbit?”

“N-no!” sobs Lavender. “H-he was only a baby!” Parvati tightens her arm around Lavender’s shoulders.

“But then, why would you dread him dying?” I can’t help but smile at Hermione’s deduction of the sheer stupidity that is Lavender Brown. If we were still friends, I’d have hugged her for making Lavender look this foolish to me.

“Well, look at it logically,” says Hermione, turning to the rest of the group. “I mean, Binky didn’t even die today, did he? Lavender just got the news today” — Lavender wails loudly — “and she can’t have been dreading it, because it’s come as a real shock —”

“Don’t mind Hermione, Lavender,” says Ron loudly, “she doesn’t think other people’s pets matter very much.”

Professor McGonagall opens the classroom door at that moment, which is perhaps lucky; Hermione and Ron are looking daggers at each other, and when they get into class, they seat themselves on either side of Harry and don’t talk to each other for the whole class.

I focus on the lesson as best I can when the bell rings signaling that class finally over. “One moment, please!” she calls as the class makes to leave. “As you’re all in my House, you should hand Hogsmeade permission forms to me before Halloween. No form, no visiting the village, so don’t forget!”

Neville puts up his hand.

“Please, Professor, I — I think I’ve lost —”

“Your grandmother sent yours to me directly, Longbottom,” says Professor McGonagall. “She seemed to think it was safer. Well, that’s all, you may leave.”

I start for the door but before I can get very far I’m stopped. “Pendragon might I have a word with you after I’m finished with Potter?” Professor McGonagall calls. I freeze in place, but turn around and nod my agreement to her anyway. I wait near the middle of the classroom so as not to listen in on their conversation the best that I can.

I’m pretty sure that Harry’s asking if he can go to Hogsmeade without having his permission slip signed. From the sound of it and the look on Harry’s face when he storms out of the class, it seems like she’s said no. “Okay Jamie.” Professor McGonagall says to me. I turn around and slowly make my way up to her.

“Yes professor?” I ask her worriedly. She levels a long heavy stare at me that makes me shift nervously.

“Has there been something going on Jamie? You don’t sit with Potter, Weasley, and Granger anymore, and you’ve barely spoken three words in my class in the past weeks. Are you okay?” She asks me worriedly.

My eyes widen when I understand the implication of her words. “Y-yes I’m totally fine professor, just a lot on my mind is all.” I tell her shoving a fake smile onto my face quickly that doesn’t feel right anymore since I don’t smile all that much anymore.

“I’m not foolish you know Jamie I am keyed in to the rumors and gossip that goes around this school. I know that everything is not all right. I can’t do anything about it though if you do not tell me what is wrong though.” She says earnestly. I bite my lower lip in worry. It would be so easy to spill to her about the separation from my friends, and the torment from the Slytherins and Malfoy.

If I did though, then my friends would get in trouble, and I don’t want that, even if they are being mean. “I’m fine professor seriously. You don’t need to worry about me.” I tell her slowly backing away and gesturing to the door. “I’ve got to get to class.” I say even though I do not have one.

As I’m leaving though I hear something that worries me. “But I do worry.” Professor McGonagall says after me.

* * *

 

The next morning is Halloween and everyone third year and above is getting ready to go out to Hogsmeade today. My brother and Ariana are trying to get me to come with them today, but I’m really not feeling in the mood to go. There will be too many people there, and there’s always the chance of running into Hermione and Ron that I’d just rather avoid.

I’m beginning to resign myself to the fact that if they haven’t talked to me after all this time that they’re not going to talk to me ever again. So I just keep the picture that I have of the four of us taken last year close at hand in case I ever start to feel really lonely.

I think that my brother is about ready to kill all three of them along with Ariana. They say that I’ve changed, even though I don’t see it that much, and they blame Hermione, Ron, and Harry. I keep telling them though to not do anything for my sake though, because I brought it on myself.

“For the last time Jamie! You don’t deserve the way that they’ve been treating you! You’re different! You don’t joke around anymore, you don’t pull pranks, you choose to sit still and quietly, and lately you’re afraid of your own shadow!” Ariana cries facing me with her arms crossed over her chest and a furious look on her face.

Her nose is scrunched up in anger and her foot is tapping. I wince because a ticked off Ariana Dumbledore is a dangerous force of nature. “Come on Jame it will be fun! We can get to the joke shop and get you some cool stuff to mess with people.” Luka says attempting to prod me into going.

“No its okay guys, I’m not feeling that well. Maybe I’ll go to the next one. Have fun though, and bring me back something cool!” I tell them waving the disgruntled and upset pair off out of the castle.

I spend the rest of the day wandering around the castle and discovering some hidden passageways because of my sheer boredom. I’ve found some good shortcuts that will save some time in getting to class so that’s always a good thing. I decide to spend some of the time up in the owlery with Dionysus, but I find him all holed up with Hedwig Harry’s owl.

My heart pangs in pain, for even my owl is still able to keep friends, when I can’t. So defeated, I head back to the castle for dinner since its that time again. The Great Hall is decorated with hundreds and hundreds of candle-filled pumpkins, a cloud of fluttering live bats, and many flaming orange streamers, which are swimming lazily across the stormy ceiling like brilliant water snakes.

The food is delicious as ever but my heart’s not really in to the feast. This is the first time that I’ve attended it in my Hogwarts experience and I’m alone without my friends. This is not where I pictured myself last year. Not for the first time in the past weeks I curse Tom Riddle for playing games with my life for his own damn amusement.

I decide to leave the feast early since I’m full and not in the mood for entertainment so I slowly make my way back up to the tower. I might as well start my homework and go to sleep. If there’s one good thing about having no friends it’s that my grades have dramatically improved since I have nothing else to spend my time on.

I’m almost near our portrait hole when I hear a familiar shrill scream. I hurry up the last few steps my heart pumping. There standing in front of the Fat Lady is the emaciated form of a man. His dark brown hair is long and stringy, and his chest is heaving up and down. “Damn you woman! Let me in I used to be a part of this house! I need to get someone dangerous out of there!” The man howls with madness.

“No! Y-you do not have the password so y-you s-shall not p-pass!” The Fat Lady cries her voice quivering in feat. She’s armed with her chalice but it’s not going to do much good defending herself.

“Curse you woman let me in!” He growls and suddenly there’s a gleaming wicked looking knife in his hand, and he’s slicing up the Fat Lady. I hide my gasp of shock and horror behind my hand even though I’m not sure that it could have been heard over the screams of terror from the Fat Lady and the shredding canvas.

The Fat Lady flees and the man stops shredding her painting feeling the wall behind her to see if he can gain access to our common room that way. He has no such luck though. “Curse her and this insufferable school!” The madman spits kicking at the wall in frustration. I jump a little at the violence of the act, and slip on my step.

The noise is enough to make him spin around and catch sight of me standing there. He squints his dark eyes, and rubs at his scruffy face. “You! I know you… you look so familiar. Aha! Alexis! But that can’t be Alexis is dead, oh! You must be Alexis and Daniel’s girl you have to be! I know, you can let me in!” The man says, and I confirm my suspicions that this is indeed Sirius Black.

Why else would he call me by my mother’s name if he didn’t know that she was dead for a moment there? “N-no. You can’t… I-I won’t let you g-get to Harry.” I say my voice shaking with fright just like the rest of me. Sirius’ eyes widen in shock.

“Hurt Harry? Why on earth would I want to…” but he’s cut off by the sound of many approaching voices.

Before I can even react Sirius Black is racing away from me and down another corridor disappearing from sight. I slowly approach the place where he had been standing with shaky legs. I raise my hand to the torn canvas slowly, tears cascading down my face. I had just been face to face with a convicted mass murderer and have lived to tell the tale.

Suddenly there are many shocked gasps, and I twirl around to see Professor Dumbledore and other teachers standing there with many of my housemates crowding in behind them.

“What is the meaning of this Jamie Pendragon?” Dumbledore asks me softly but with an edge of command to this voice.

I raise a shaking hand to my face to attempt to wipe away some of the tears that just won’t stop. “S-Sirius B-Black.” I utter with a quivering voice. Shocked gasps come from everyone except for Dumbledore. There’s a cackle from overhead as Peeves the school’s poltergeist floats down next to me making me want to cringe and jump in fear.

“Oh yes, Professorhead,” says Peeves, with the air of one cradling a large bombshell in his arms. “He got very angry when she wouldn’t let him in, you see.” Peeves flips over and grins at Dumbledore from between his own legs. “Nasty temper he’s got, that Sirius Black.”


	7. Grim Defeat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

Chapter 7- Grim Defeat

 

Okay so that just happened. I can’t believe that Sirius Black had gotten into Hogwarts and no one had realized before he was at our tower. So me, and the incredible amount of bad luck that I have seemed to pick up over the past few weeks managed to run into him of all people.

Someone up there must really hate me, I think. After Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall had managed to shoo the rest of the Gryffindor’s back down the steps the professors turn to me looking expectantly.

“Miss Pendragon please explain what went on here.” Dumbledore says softly his gaze troubled as he takes in my shaking form and the torn portrait behind me that used to house the Fat Lady. I open my mouth to try and explain what had gone on with Sirius Black but nothing ends up coming out of my mouth.

I try again, but nothing comes out but a sob. My shoulders heave with the force of my tears. Why can’t I stop? I’ve faced for worse than a mass murderer before. Then again I was never alone when I did so. I always had one of my friends with me. Professor McGonagall rushes forward and wraps her arms around me, pulling me into her robes despite the fact that they’re now getting wet.

“Enough Albus you can question her later. Pendragon obviously need the infirmary and Madam Pomfrey to look over her. She’s in shock. I daresay anyone would be after stumbling upon Black.” McGonagall says starting to guide me away from the group.

“We still have to have the castle searched Minerva. The students are in danger until we can judge that Sirius Black is no longer among us in the castle.” Dumbledore tells her seriously.

“I understand Albus but Jamie needs treatment.” She says sharply, leading me away from the group. I cling tightly to her robes as she leads us down the familiar corridors that now feel dark and sinister since the safety of the castle has been disturbed.

“I-I…” I stammer trying to piece together a few words.

“Yes Jamie what is it?” Professor McGonagall asks me softly looking into my eyes seriously.

“I…. I want L-Luka.” I manage to get out, proud of myself for being able to string those few words together as it is.

“I’m sorry Jamie, but the castle will go into lockdown now trying to find the intruder, and your brother will be safe with the rest of the students just like you will be here.” She tells me.

We enter the hospital wing that must be my second home since how many times that I’ve ended up here in these beds. She pushes open the doors and Madam Pomfrey sticks her head out of her office quizzically. When she sees me though, she jumps to her feet and hurriedly leads us over to a cot.

McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey manage to get me seated on the cot in front of them.

“What happened to her Minerva?” Madam Pomfrey asks her worriedly as she waves her wand over me scanning me for injuries.

“There is an intruder in the castle Poppy… Sirius Black. He was trying to break into Gryffindor tower, but he didn’t have the password to get in. I’m afraid that he destroyed the Fat Lady’s portrait. Jamie here stumbled across him returning from the feast early.” She says in an upset voice.

I’ve never heard McGonagall sound this worried before. This is seriously not good news. Madame Pomfrey reaches out with a soft handkerchief wiping my eyes and cheeks slowly attempting to clean up the tears.

“There, there Jamie. Everything will be all right now, dry those eyes there’s no need for tears anymore you’re safe.” She whispers to me softly. I look up at the two women standing in front of me sadly.

“I want my brother.” I say again attempting to get them to bring Luka to me. I need to see that he’s okay, the sight of Sirius Black has hit too close to the appearance of Augustus in my nightmares.

“I’m sorry Jamie. I’m sorry but I have to go and assist in the search. You’ll be fine here, Poppy will take great care of you.” Professor McGonagall says turning from us and slipping out of the infirmary.

“Okay Pendragon swing your legs up onto the bed and lay down for me. You’re in shock and I have a tonic that I’d like to give to you.” She instructs. I close my eyes for a moment as a wave of exhaustion rolls over me. The events from the last few weeks are catching up with me now.

I quietly follow every instruction that Madam Pomfrey gives me. I’ve given up on seeing my brother tonight. I’d also like to see Ariana but I don’t focus on it that much. I hope that I will be able to get out of here soon and that they catch Sirius Black for Harry’s sake.

I must have fallen asleep for the next thing I know someone’s arms are around me holding me tightly to a body. I startle not realizing who’s holding me until too late when I reach out and smash my palm into the person’s head. Luka jumps with a quick whine releasing me to rub the side of his head.

“L-Luka…” I say not quite believing what I’m seeing here. It can’t be my brother can it?

“Jeez Jamie, see if I ever come visit you again.” He grumbles crossly adjusting the glasses on his face. I burst up from the best and wrap my brother in my arm, nuzzling my face into his chest, letting my tears break free again. Luka wraps his arms around me securely holding me to him.

“I’m so sorry Jame. I swear that if I ever see that criminal that I will pop him a good one.” Luka promises me kissing the side of my head. Luka punching someone, that’s a hilarious thought.

“He has an amazingly unassuming right hook.” A voice points out. I jump again within my brother’s arms and I pull my head away from his jumper to focus on the face of Ariana Dumbledore.

“Ariana…” I ask not quite believing that she’s here. The girl in question grins at me softly and flicks a strand of long blond hair out of her face.

“The one and only. You know Jamie you’ve got to stop scaring us like this. I haven’t wanted to see the inside of this room for at least a few more months concerning you.” She tells me softly.

“Luka… you punched someone?” I ask him shakily still trying to get my bearings about me from a potion induced sleep. My brother blushes so hard that I can see it in the low light in the room.

“Well I might have given a strong suggestion to someone that it would be unwise to come and visit you at this particular time.” Luka says diplomatically while Ariana chuckles shaking her head at my brother.

“Sure Pendragon knocking Harry Potter flat on his back is a lot more than a strong suggestion. You put him in his place.” She says. My eyes widen after hearing this new development.

“You punched Harry?” I demand so shocked that my nerves don’t take over my speech for the first time in a long while.

“Maybe just a little.” Luka says much to the amusement of Ariana who has sat down on the end of my bed resting her hand on my blanketed leg.

“How can you punch someone just a little Luka?” I demand starting to get upset at him. Luka huffs at me and crosses his arms across his chest.

“What should you care anyway. He’s being a giant prat to you and he deserved it. Besides its his own ruddy fault for underestimating me.” My brother says.

“I don’t care even though Harry doesn’t seem to want to be my friend, he’s still mine. You shouldn’t hurt him. Harry is under a lot of stress he doesn’t need you two adding onto it.” I tell both of them trying to catch both of their eyes. Luka huffs angrily and grumbles under his breath that he’d rather just curse him.

“I wish that they could see what great friends that they have in you Jamie. Not many people would still be loyal after all this time. I’m surprised that your weren’t a Hufflepuff.” Ariana tells me softly. I manage a small smile at her through my frazzled emotions.

“I would have been thrown out on my ass from your house a long time ago for half the stuff that I pull.” I tell her truthfully. Ariana laughs softly again, and we all check to make sure that Madam Pomfrey is still not here.

“So what happened? Have they found him yet—Sirius Black?” I question them unsure if I want to hear the answer. Luka and Ariana share sidelong glances with each other.

“No… he made it out of the castle before the teachers could find him. The ministry and staff is all in an uproar about it. That means that Black was able to sneak into and out of the castle without being detected and found out by the dementors. The Minister wanted to have them search the castle.” Luka tells me quietly giving me a look that says to stay quiet.

Seriously those creatures in the castle! That’s quite possibly the worst idea that I’ve ever heard of before. “Don’t worry. My grandfather put an end to that idea swiftly. If there is one thing that he would not allow in the castle it would be them. He hates them. He wouldn’t allow them to endanger his students again.” Ariana explains.

Thank Merlin that Dumbledore still his wits about him. I stifle a yawn on my back of my hand, and Ariana smiles at me fondly while Luka glances at his watch. “We should get back before someone realizes that we’re gone. Good thing there’s a lot of others to keep the prefects occupied.” Luka says casting another meaningful look at Ariana.

“We’ll see you in the morning Jamie.” My brother tells me giving my hand a squeezing before backing away to the door to make sure that the coast is clear. Ariana turns her worried gaze back on me.

“Are you positive that you’re okay Jamie?” She asks me worriedly. I grin at her, and I’m surprised that it actually feels right on my face for the first time in a while.

“I’ll be fine. Thanks for coming tonight Ariana. I was wanting to see you.” I tell her shyly smiling at her unsurely. A huge grin breaks out on the girl’s face in front of me.

“Don’t worry about it Jamie it means a lot to me that you wanted to see me. Now don’t go getting into any trouble Pendragon I expect to see you tomorrow bright and early, ready to face the day.” She tells me leaving me getting up after giving my leg a squeeze.

I watch as the two of them leave with great amusement as it seems as if I’ve corrupted a Ravenclaw and a Hufflepuff in my tenure at Hogwarts so far. I fall asleep again for the first time with a smile on my face in a while.

* * *

The next morning after much worry from Madam Pomfrey I’m released from the hospital wing with a firm warning to not be over exerting myself. That wasn’t really a problem for the next few days.

The school talks of nothing but Sirius Black for the next few days. The theories about how he had entered the castle become wilder and wilder; Hannah Abbott, from Hufflepuff, spends much of our next Herbology class telling anyone who’ll listen that Black can turn into a flowering shrub, much to Ariana’s amusement.

The Fat Lady’s ripped canvas has been taken off the wall and replaced with the portrait of Sir Cadogan and his fat gray pony. Nobody is very happy about this. Sir Cadogan spends half his time challenging people to duels, and the rest thinking up ridiculously complicated passwords, which he changes at least twice a day.

“He’s a complete lunatic,” says Seamus Finnigan angrily to Percy. “Can’t we get anyone else?”

“None of the other pictures wanted the job,” says Percy. “Frightened of what happened to the Fat Lady. Sir Cadogan was the only one brave enough to volunteer.”

I on the other hand have to problem with Sir. Cadogan for he still remembers that I curtsied to him all that time ago so he never gives me a hard time getting into the tower. He blushes like furious though each time that he speaks to me. All of the other Gryffindors have started trying to come and go with me since he never gives me any problems.

The thing that has surprised me the most though is the tearful apology that I had gotten from Hermione a few nights ago, ever since the whole Sirius Black incident. I was in bed late the next night writing another letter to send to a frantic Mrs. Weasley who had heard about my run in with Sirius Black.

She was threatening to pull me out of school and keep me where I was safe along with the rest of her children. Hopefully the letter that I had sent her had done the trick. Well the curtains around my bed were flung open and I jumped startled, for usually I’m not bothered when in the dorm room anymore.

Seeing Hermione standing there in front of me with tears dripping off her red face, was shocking to say the least. As it turns out Hermione had been beating herself up for the past few weeks. Hermione had come to understand my reasoning for not sharing the information about my uncle only a few days after I had told her.

It was just that Harry and Ron were still so upset and they had convinced Hermione that it wasn’t in their best interests to forgive me quite yet. It hadn’t meant to go on for as long as it had. Hermione felt awful for she had seen the bullying that the Slytherins had put me through and she was guilt ridden. Then she sobbed so hard that I was worried that she was going to be sick.

That was when she apologized profusely for treating me the way that she had, and that she would understand if I never wanted to speak to her again. For a short period I just stared at her dumbly for I wasn’t sure what to make of the apology. Before Hermione could leave dejectedly, I grabbed hold of her hand and pulled up on the bed beside me so that I could wrap my arms around her tightly and squeeze the life out of her.

“I forgive you Hermione. All you ever had to do was say sorry. We’re all wrong for we handled the situation. Let’s just work on putting everything back together.” I told her tears streaming down my face as we held onto each other for dear life.

The next morning Hermione and I sat with each other in the Great Hall for breakfast. Luka looked worried at first but I smiled to reassure him that everything was all right. Ariana had of course beamed when she saw the development that had occurred.

Strange things seemed to be going for me that day for after breakfast Ron caught up to the pair of us in the hallway, and had stumbled through a short but nonetheless heartfelt apology. I made him squirm for a moment before telling him the same thing that I had told Hermione, all that he had needed to do was apologize. No more than eight times did I catch Harry looking over at Hermione and me during classes that day.

I’m still not exactly sure how I feel about him. He hasn’t tried to approach me unlike the others so I’m not quite sure what to make of him yet. After Transfiguration McGonagall called Harry to the front to attempt to tell him that Sirius Black was after him and that he’d be closely guarded.

Harry has surprised her by telling her that he knew all of this already. Professor McGonagall seems very taken aback. She stares at Harry for a moment or two, then says, “I see! Well, in that case, Potter, you’ll understand why I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be practicing Quidditch in the evenings. Out on the field with only your team members, it’s very exposed, Potter —”

“We’ve got our first match on Saturday!” says Harry, outraged. “I’ve got to train, Professor!” Overhearing what’s going on while gathering my supplies back into my bag, I go over to the two of them.

“Professor Gryffindor hasn’t won the House Cup in the last seven years. Harry is our best chance at doing so. He’ll be perfectly safe on the grounds, since the dementors still patrol around there. Besides I don’t believe that Sirius Black will attack with that many witnesses. If you’re still worried, come and watch our practices yourself.” I propose to her on behalf of Harry.

Professor McGonagall considers him intently. I know she is deeply interested in the Gryffindor team’s prospects; it had been she, after all, who’d suggested Harry as Seeker in the first place. We wait, holding our breath.

“Hmm . . .” Professor McGonagall stands up and stares out of the window at the Quidditch field, just visible through the rain. “Well put Pendragon commendable speech. Goodness knows, I’d like to see us win the Cup at last . . . but all the same, Potter, Pendragon . . . I’d be happier if a teacher were present. I’ll ask Madam Hooch to oversee your training sessions. Harry and I grin widely at Professor McGonagall and thank her.

Once out of the classroom Harry turns to me with a confused, thankful, and slightly ashamed face. “Why did you do that Jamie?” Harry asks me softly looking at the ground. I blow out a breath of air shoving some hair behind my ear.

“Because Harry despite everything that’s happened and how bad I feel you’re still my friend. Quidditch is a big part of you and me and it won’t be the same if you’re not there to experience it with me. I would like to start over Harry.” I tell him earnestly.

Harry raises his gaze to look at me. “I-I’d like that Jamie… but we can’t go back to where we were before.” He says. I nod my head.

“Too much has happened for that but we can start over, because for some boneheaded reason I can’t seem to stay away from trouble.” I joke a smile on my face. Harry grins back at me. “So, you want to tell me what’s up with this shiner on your right eye? You look like one half of one of those striped dog creatures that go through people’s trash.” I tell him starting down the hall.

“A raccoon Jamie, it’s a raccoon…” Harry says as we turn around a corner.

* * *

 

The weather worsens steadily as the first Quidditch match draws nearer. Undaunted, the Gryffindor team is training harder than ever under the eye of Madam Hooch. Then, at our final training session before Saturday’s match, Oliver Wood gives his team some unwelcome news.

“We’re not playing Slytherin!” he tells us, looking very angry. “Flint’s just been to see me. We’re playing Hufflepuff instead.”

“Why?” choruses the rest of the team.

“Flint’s excuse is that their Seeker’s arm’s still injured,” explains Wood, grinding his teeth furiously. “But it’s obvious why they’re doing it. Don’t want to play in this weather. Think it’ll damage their chances. . . .”

There has been strong winds and heavy rain all day, and as Wood speaks, we hear a distant rumble of thunder. Great this is just perfect. “There’s nothing wrong with Malfoy’s arm!” says Harry furiously. “He’s faking it!”

“That’s right!” I chime in, and Harry and I share a small smile. We’re getting there slowly but surely.

“I know that, but we can’t prove it,” says Wood bitterly. “And we’ve been practicing all those moves assuming we’re playing Slytherin, and instead it’s Hufflepuff, and their style’s quite different. They’ve got a new Captain and Seeker, Cedric Diggory —”

Angelina and Katie suddenly giggle, and I roll my eyes at them fondly. All they’ve been talking about recently is Cedric, and since I fly with them I hear way too much about him.

“What?” says Wood, frowning at this lighthearted behavior.

“He’s that tall, good-looking one, isn’t he?” says Angelina.

“Strong and silent,” says Katie, and they start to giggle again.

“He’s only silent because he’s too thick to string two words together,” snaps Fred impatiently. “I don’t know why you’re worried, Oliver, Hufflepuff is a pushover. Last time we played them, Harry caught the Snitch in about five minutes, remember?”

“We were playing in completely different conditions!” Wood shouts, his eyes bulging slightly. “Diggory’s put a very strong side together! He’s an excellent Seeker! I was afraid you’d take it like this! We mustn’t relax! We must keep our focus! Slytherin is trying to wrong-foot us! We must win!” Great here goes dictator Oliver again.

I was wondering when we’d see him again. “Oliver, calm down!” says Fred, looking slightly alarmed. “We’re taking Hufflepuff very seriously. Seriously.”

The day before the match, the winds reach howling point and the rain falls harder than ever. So not looking forward to playing in this weather. It is so dark inside the corridors and classrooms that extra torches and lanterns are lit. The Slytherin team is looking very smug indeed, and none more so than Malfoy.

“Ah, if only my arm was feeling a bit better!” he sighs as the gale outside pounds the windows. Oh what I wouldn’t give to drown that weasel outside. I’ve been feeling better and back to my old self slowly, and that include the crowd favorite past time of Malfoy bashing.

Harry and I are late for Defense Against the Dark Arts since Oliver is still giving us last minute strategies as we’re walking to class. “Sorry we’re late, Professor Lupin, I —”

But it isn’t Professor Lupin who looks up at us from the teacher’s desk; it is Snape.

“This lesson began ten minutes ago, Potter, Pendragon so I think we’ll make it ten points from Gryffindor. Sit down.”

But Harry and I don’t move. “Where’s Professor Lupin?” I ask.

“He says he is feeling too ill to teach today,” says Snape with a twisted smile. “I believe I told you to sit down?” I go over and sink down into a seat next to Ron.

But Harry stays where he is. “What’s wrong with him?”

Snape’s black eyes glitter.

“Nothing life-threatening,” he says, looking as though he wishes it were. “Five more points from Gryffindor, and if I have to ask you to sit down again, it will be fifty.”

Harry walks slowly to his seat and sits down. Snape looks around at the class. “As I was saying before Potter and Pendragon interrupted, Professor Lupin has not left any record of the topics you have covered so far —”

“Please, sir, we’ve done boggarts, Red Caps, kappas, and grindylows,” says Hermione quickly, “and we’re just about to start —”

“Be quiet,” says Snape coldly. “I did not ask for information. I was merely commenting on Professor Lupin’s lack of organization.” Great this is going to be a joy of a class for sure.

“He’s the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher we’ve ever had,” says Dean Thomas boldly, and there is a murmur of agreement from the rest of the class. Snape looks more menacing than ever.

“You are easily satisfied. Lupin is hardly overtaxing you — I would expect first years to be able to deal with Red Caps and grindylows. Today we shall discuss —”

I watch him flick through the textbook, to the very back chapter, which he must know we haven’t covered.

“— werewolves,” says Snape.

“But, sir,” says Hermione, seemingly unable to restrain herself, “we’re not supposed to do werewolves yet, we’re due to start hinkypunks —”

“Miss Granger,” says Snape in a voice of deadly calm, “I was under the impression that I am teaching this lesson, not you. And I am telling you all to turn to page 394.” He glances around again. “All of you! Now!” I grit my teeth to stop from saying something that I would regret later.

With many bitter sidelong looks and some sullen muttering, the class opens our books.

“Which of you can tell me how we distinguish between the werewolf and the true wolf?” asks Snape.

Everyone sits in motionless silence; everyone except Hermione, whose hand, as it so often does, has shot straight into the air.

“Anyone?” Snape says, ignoring Hermione. His twisted smile is back, never a good sign. “Are you telling me that Professor Lupin hasn’t even taught you the basic distinction between —”

“We told you,” says Parvati suddenly, “we haven’t got as far as werewolves yet, we’re still on —”

“Silence!” snarls Snape. “Well, well, well, I never thought I’d meet a third-year class who wouldn’t even recognize a werewolf when they saw one. I shall make a point of informing Professor Dumbledore how very behind you all are. . . .”

“Please, sir,” says Hermione, whose hand is still in the air, “the werewolf differs from the true wolf in several small ways. The snout of the werewolf —”

“That is the second time you have spoken out of turn, Miss Granger,” says Snape coolly. “Five more points from Gryffindor for being an insufferable know-it-all.”

I shoot up from my chair before I can stop myself. “ _Sir_ , you are a professor, and as such you are supposed to be encouraging your students to participate in your class and learn from you. She knows the answer and you’re just punishing her because you do not like that.” I tell him scathingly.

“That’s it Pendragon! Thirty points from Gryffindor for your insolence and disrespect! To the Headmaster’s office with you!” Snape roars flicking his wand at the door and it bangs open, making the class jump in shock. Still furious, I gather up my papers muttering under my breath about what a giant git that Snape is. Ron has gotten a detention for defending Hermione and me.

I look up and catch Hermione’s teary-eyed look of thanks, as I make my way out of the classroom, and up to the Headmaster’s office. The stone eagle moves aside as I approach, so I hurry up and jump on a step so that it can take me most of the way up to Dumbledore’s office.

When it rumbles to a stop I hop up the last few steps to his office. I raise my hand to knock on the oak door— “Come in.” Dumbledore’s voice sounds from inside the office. I push the door open and slowly walk into his office. I’m a little nervous for I’ve never been in here before when I was in trouble. Usually it was for some heroic deed or when Ariana, Luka, and I were little and visiting the castle.

Dumbledore sits behind his desk stroking the beak of my personal savior Fawkes the phoenix. Dumbledore looks up from Fawkes and takes in my appearance with knowing eyes. “Ah Jamie, come in have a seat.” He says gesturing to the plump chairs in front of his desk with a wave of his hand.

I slowly sink down into one of them while gripping the strap of my rucksack so tightly in my hands that my knuckles whiten. “Do you mind explaining to me why you’re here?” He asks me. I bite down on my lower lip.

“You already know sir.” I tell him softly. Dumbledore chuckles softly from him position in front of me and leans on his desk so that he’s slightly closer to me.

“I do. We should keep my mystical ways to ourselves though. Now Severus sent you to me because of your outburst in class Jamie. He seems to think that you were lecturing him on how to be a better professor.” Dumbledore says solemnly.

“Not a better professor, just a fair one. He called Hermione an insufferable know it all and she cried.” I tell him the vehemence in my voice going down as I finish my thought. Dumbledore stares at me for a few seconds then chuckles softly at me.

“Jamie it has been a long time since someone has challenged one of my teacher’s on their style, and it is rather refreshing. Severus should have never said that to Miss Granger, granted you should not have disrupted his class and speak ill of him. I believe that this manner can be resolved quite easily.” He says.

“Only ten points will be taken away from Gryffindor, and Severus will be dealt with on how he speaks to his students who are participating in lessons. I do believe that you have studying to get to?” He tells me with a twinkle in his eye. A grin spreads across my face, and I nod my head.

“Thank you professor.” I tell him. I make it to the door before he calls after me.

“Miss Pendragon? A word for the wise, pick and choose your battles wisely.” Dumbledore tells me, and with a smile I exit his office. 

* * *

The next morning I wake to the thundering cacophony that is the storm outside my window, perfect weather for playing a game of Quidditch. Yeah right! Grumbling I get out of bed and stagger over to my trunk to get changed for the day. I stay as quiet as possible as to not wake up the other girls, though I’m not sure how they can sleep when the wind is howling like that.

The noise of the storm is even louder in the common room. I know better than to think the match would be canceled; Quidditch matches aren’t called off for trifles like thunderstorms. I run into Harry down in the common room. This is the first time that we’ve really been alone since making up. He’s sitting in front of the fire staring off into the flames.

“Hey Harry what’s up?” I ask him. Harry startles and turns his gaze to look at me. He gives me a smile and I sit down next to him on the couch.

“I… I’m a little worried about flying against Cedric Diggory especially in this weather.” He admits to me. I sigh and shake my head at Harry.

“You’ve gone up against Voldemort, a giant ass basilisk, Aragog the eight legged nightmare, and have flown on a hippogriff. If there is anything you can do Harry it is fly on your broom in a thunderstorm.” I say positively. Harry smiles at me.

“You know in all of those things I’ve had you at my side.” He says softly flicking his gaze back to the fire uncertainly. I feel a little anxious about this answer but things have to give on both sides for things to get back to normal around here.

“And you’ll have me there today as well.” I reply. Harry’s grin reaches his eyes this time. Harry and I head through the portrait and down to breakfast together talking over the strategy that Wood had designed for us to play in.

We revive a bit over a large bowl of porridge, and by the time we’ve started on toast, the rest of the team has turned up.

“It’s going to be a tough one,” says Wood, who isn’t eating anything.

“Stop worrying, Oliver,” says Katie soothingly, “we don’t mind a bit of rain.”

But it is considerably more than a bit of rain. Such is the popularity of Quidditch that the whole school turns out to watch the match as usual, but they run down the lawns toward the Quidditch field, heads bowed against the ferocious wind, umbrellas being whipped out of their hands as they go. Just before we enter the locker room, Harry and I see Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, laughing and pointing at us from under an enormous umbrella on their way to the stadium.

The team changes into our scarlet robes and waits for Wood’s usual pre-match pep talk, but it doesn’t come. He tries to speak several times, makes an odd gulping noise, then shakes his head hopelessly and beckons us to follow him.

The wind is so strong that we stagger sideways as we walk out onto the field. If the crowd is cheering, we can’t hear it over the fresh rolls of thunder. This is probably the worst conditions that I’ve ever played Quidditch in in my life!

The Hufflepuffs are approaching from the opposite side of the field, wearing canary-yellow robes. The Captains walk up to each other and shake hands; Diggory smiles at Wood but Wood now looks as though he has lockjaw and merely nods. I see Madam Hooch’s mouth form the words, “Mount your brooms.” I pull my right foot out of the mud with a squelch and swing it over my Nimbus Two Thousand. Madam Hooch puts her whistle to her lips and gives it a blast that sounds shrill and distant — we are off.

Too say that this game is like a battle field in a giant shower is an understatement. Angelina manages to get the quaffle but we can barely see through the rain enough to see if the shape in front of us is our teammate or a rouge bludger coming at us. The quaffle is slippery as I learn when I manage to catch the quaffle from a fumble by a Hufflepuff chaser. By some miracle I manage to find the Hufflepuff hoops.

The keeper didn’t even have a chance. I scored for Gryffindor to put some points up on the board. With the first flash of lightning comes the sound of Madam Hooch’s whistle; I can just see the outline of Wood through the thick rain, gesturing us to the ground. The whole team splashes down into the mud.

“I called for time-out!” Wood roars at his team. “Come on, under here —”

We huddle at the edge of the field under a large umbrella; Harry takes off his glasses and wipes them hurriedly on his robes.

“What’s the score?”

“We’re fifty points up,” says Wood, “but unless we get the Snitch soon, we’ll be playing into the night.”

“I’ve got no chance with these on,” Harry says exasperatedly, waving his glasses. Great just what we need in this game a blind seeker, and that’s a dangerous thing as well.

At that very moment, Hermione appears at his shoulder; she is holding her cloak over her head and is, inexplicably, beaming.

“I’ve had an idea, Harry! Give me your glasses, quick!” He hands them to her, and as the team watches in amazement, Hermione taps them with her wand and says, “Impervius!”

“There!” she says, handing them back to Harry. “They’ll repel water!” Wood looks as though he could kiss her.

“Brilliant!” he called hoarsely after her as she disappeared into the crowd. “Okay, team, let’s go for it!”

The game resumes and I’m back out there to my life and death game of water dodge a bludger. We zoom back and forth cutting, dodging, catching, blundering, and scoring tiring ourselves out waiting for the snitch to be caught all ready so that we can go back to the castle and get warm and dry.

Suddenly I hear Wood yell for Harry to look behind him. Thank god, maybe this game can be finally over then! Suddenly the cold air around us gets freezing, I make the mistake of quickly glancing up. At least a hundred dementors, their hidden faces pointing up at Harry, are standing beneath him.

This is so not going to end well. “HARRY!” I scream at the top of my voice. It doesn’t do any good. I watch as Harry slips off of his broom, and starts hurdling to the ground. Luckily Dumbledore casts a spell, and a strong blue light catches him near the ground and softly lays him down.

Nobody cheers even though Cedric Diggory catches the snitch winning the game for Hufflepuff.

* * *

 

When Harry finally opens his eyes in the infirmary he is greeted by the sight of the Gryffindor Quidditch team splattered with mud from head to toe, gathered around his bed, and Ron and Hermione looks as though they’ve gotten into a fight with a swimming pool.

“Harry!” says Fred, who looks extremely white underneath the mud. “How’re you feeling?”

“Are you all right Harry?” I ask worriedly attempting to stop the mud from my forehead from dripping down into my eye.

“What happened?” he says, sitting up so suddenly we all gasp.

“You fell off,” says Fred. “Must’ve been — what — fifty feet?”

“We thought you’d died,” says Katie, who is shaking. Hermione makes a small, squeaky noise. Her eyes are extremely bloodshot.

“But the match,” says Harry. “What happened? Are we doing a replay?” I bite down on my lower lip nervously but immediately spit for there’s mud there as well. I really need to go and take a shower soon.

No one says anything. The horrible truth sinks into Harry like a stone. “We didn’t — lose?”

“Diggory got the Snitch,” says George. “Just after you fell. He didn’t realize what had happened. When he looked back and saw you on the ground, he tried to call it off. Wanted a rematch. But they won fair and square . . . even Wood admits it.”

“Where is Wood?” asks Harry, suddenly realizing he isn’t there.

“Still in the showers,” says Fred. “We think he’s trying to drown himself.” Harry puts his face to his knees, his hands gripping his hair. Fred grabs his shoulder and shakes it roughly. “C’mon, Harry, you’ve never missed the Snitch before.”

“There has to be one time you didn’t get it,” says George.

“It’s not over yet,” says Fred. “We lost by a hundred points, right? So if Hufflepuff loses to Ravenclaw and we beat Ravenclaw and Slytherin . . .”

“Hufflepuff’ll have to lose by at least two hundred points,” counters George.

“But if they beat Ravenclaw . . .”

“No way, Ravenclaw is too good. But if Slytherin loses against Hufflepuff . . .”

“It all depends on the points — a margin of a hundred either way —”

After ten minutes or so, Madam Pomfrey comes over to tell the team to leave Harry in peace.

“We’ll come and see you later,” Fred tells him. “Don’t beat yourself up, Harry, you’re still the best Seeker we’ve ever had.”

The team troops out, trailing mud behind them. Madam Pomfrey shuts the door behind them, looking disapproving. Ron, Hermione, and I move nearer to Harry’s bed. I’m allowed to stay since I’m a friend, but a shower sound extraordinary at the moment.

“Dumbledore was really angry,” Hermione says in a quaking voice. “I’ve never seen him like that before. He ran onto the field as you fell, waved his wand, and you sort of slowed down before you hit the ground. Then he whirled his wand at the dementors. Shot silver stuff at them. They left the stadium right away. . . . He was furious they’d come onto the grounds. We heard him —”

“Then he magicked you onto a stretcher,” says Ron. “And walked up to school with you floating on it. Everyone thought you were . . .” I shiver thinking about what had happened or maybe it’s just from the cold settling into my bones.

“Did someone get my Nimbus?” Harry asks us. Ron, Hermione, and I look quickly at each other.

“Er —” Ron says.

“What?” says Harry, looking from one to the other.

“Well . . . when you fell off, it got blown away,” says Hermione hesitantly.

“And?”

“And it hit — it hit — oh, Harry — it hit the Whomping Willow.” I tell him not liking having to be the one to tell him that his prize broom is now more suitable for some fairly large toothpicks.

“Professor Flitwick brought it back just before you came around,” says Hermione in a very small voice.

Slowly, she reaches down for a bag at her feet, turns it upside down, and tips a dozen bits of splintered wood and twigs onto the bed, the only remains of Harry’s faithful, finally beaten broomstick, after that Harry asks for us to leave him alone, and I’m finally able to get into my glorious shower, after making sure that he’s okay. It’s safe to say that I sleep like the dead that night.


	8. The Marauder's Map

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except for Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

Chapter 8- The Marauder’s Map

 

Harry had to stay in the Hospital Wing for the rest of the weekend. He got gobs of visitors and get-well presents but to say the least, he was still sulking majorly. Hermione, Ron, and I stayed in the Hospital wing with him all day only to leave once night came but that still didn’t seem to make a difference.

I can tell that Harry is keeping something from us, but I’m not going to push him on it. He’s being hypocritical but we’ve only just gotten back to some even ground between the two of us, so I’m not going to ruin that just yet with pushing him to open up. I’m relieved that class is beginning again on Monday and that Harry is being released. I was beginning to go crazy in that room.

* * *

 

It is a relief to return to the noise and bustle of the main school on Monday, where we are forced to think about other things, even if we have to endure Draco Malfoy’s taunting. Malfoy is almost beside himself with glee at Gryffindor’s defeat. He has finally taken off his bandages, and celebrates having the full use of both arms again by doing spirited imitations of Harry falling off his broom.

Malfoy spends much of our next Potions class doing dementor imitations across the dungeon; Ron finally cracks and flings a large, slippery crocodile heart at Malfoy, which hits him in the face and causes Snape to take fifty points from Gryffindor. Personally I think that he’s still mad at me for telling on him to Dumbledore but I’m not the least but upset about it.

“If Snape’s teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts again, I’m skiving off,” says Ron as we head toward Lupin’s classroom after lunch. “Check who’s in there, Hermione.”

Hermione peers around the classroom door. “It’s okay!”

Professor Lupin is back at work. It certainly looks as though he had been ill. His old robes are hanging more loosely on him and there are dark shadows beneath his eyes; nevertheless, he smiles at the class as we take our seats, and we burst at once into an explosion of complaints about Snape’s behavior while Lupin had been ill.

“It’s not fair, he was only filling in, why should he give us homework?”

“We don’t know anything about werewolves —”

“— two rolls of parchment!”

“Did you tell Professor Snape we haven’t covered them yet?” Lupin asks, frowning slightly. The babble breaks out again.

“Yes, but he said we were really behind —”

“— he wouldn’t listen —”

“— two rolls of parchment!”

Professor Lupin smiles at the looks of indignation on every face. “Don’t worry. I’ll speak to Professor Snape. You don’t have to do the essay.”

“Oh no,” says Hermione, looking very disappointed. “I’ve already finished it!”

We have a very enjoyable lesson. Professor Lupin has brought along a glass box containing a hinkypunk, a little one-legged creature who looks as though he is made of wisps of smoke, rather frail and harmless-looking.

“Lures travelers into bogs,” says Professor Lupin as we take notes. “You notice the lantern dangling from his hand? Hops ahead — people follow the light — then —”

The hinkypunk makes a horrible squelching noise against the glass. Okay remind me never to go hiking near any bogs ever in my life.

When the bell rings, everyone gathers up our things and heads for the door, Harry among them, but —

“Wait a moment, Harry,” Lupin calls. “I’d like a word.” Harry gives Hermione, Ron, and I a look that says that it’s okay for us to leave him alone, and we step out in the hall to give them privacy.

While waiting out in the hall for Harry to come so that we can make it to our next class I spot a surprisingly welcome sight. A flash of blond, and then a bright smile greets me as Ariana slows down to walk by us. “Loitering in the halls Pendragon, I’d thought you’d last longer back in the halls before getting into mischief.” She jokes, a big grin showing the dimple in her cheek.

I scowl playfully at her. “You’re just jealous Dumbledore ‘cause I got style!” I call after her breaking into a playful smile as she glances back at me. When I turn back around Ron is looking at me oddly, while Hermione has her thinking face and her ‘I know something that you don’t’ look on her face.

“What?” I demand. Ron holds up his hands in confused surrender while Hermione grins at me.

“Since when did you and Ariana Dumbledore become friendly enough to joke around with each other?” Hermione asks me with a grin. I feel heat rush to my cheeks, and I shuffle my weight to my other foot. I open up my mouth to respond, but I’m saved by Harry bursting out of the classroom with a big smile on his face.

“Guess what guys! Lupin’s going to give me anti-dementor lessons!” Harry exclaims, and he jumps into an explanation about how they suck the joy, happiness, and life from you. 

* * *

 

Ravenclaw flattens Hufflepuff in their Quidditch match at the end of November, and Harry’s mood thankfully took a definite upturn. Gryffindor is not out of the running after all, although we can not afford to lose another match. Wood becomes repossessed of his manic energy, and works his team as hard as ever in the chilly haze of rain that persisted into December. Harry and I see no hint of a dementor within the grounds. Dumbledore’s anger seems to be keeping them at their stations at the entrances.

Two weeks before the end of the term, the sky lightens suddenly to a dazzling, opaline white and the muddy grounds are revealed one morning covered in glittering frost. Inside the castle, there is a buzz of Christmas in the air. Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, has already decorated his classroom with shimmering lights that turn out to be real, fluttering fairies. The students are all happily discussing their plans for the holidays. Both Ron and Hermione have decided to remain at Hogwarts, and though Ron says it is because he can’t stand two weeks with Percy, and Hermione insists she needs to use the library, Harry isn’t fooled; they are doing it to keep him company, and he is very grateful.

I’m staying in the castle for Christmas as well since Kingsley is still on special assignment tracking down Sirius Black. I think that he’s done a pretty bad job of it if you ask me, but I’m not going to complain about it too much. Luka and I are used to spending Christmas in the castle and I don’t think that it will hurt to have to spend with my friends getting back to normal without the interrupting of classes.

Ariana is staying as usual as well so if I really have issues I can go to her. To everyone’s delight except Harry’s, there is to be another Hogsmeade trip on the very last weekend of the term.

“We can do all our Christmas shopping there!” says Hermione. “Mum and Dad would really love those Toothflossing Stringmints from Honeydukes!”

Resigned to the fact that he would be the only third year staying behind again, Harry borrows a copy of Which Broomstick from Wood, and decides to spend the day reading up on the different makes. He has been riding one of the school brooms at team practice, an ancient Shooting Star, which is very slow and jerky; he definitely needs a new broom of his own.

I’m torn about what to do. Do I go to Hogsmeade with Ron and Hermione or do I stay in the castle and hang out with Harry so he’s doesn’t feel so bad. I’m surprised when the answer becomes pretty clear.

* * *

 

On the Saturday morning of the Hogsmeade trip, Harry bids good-bye to Ron and Hermione, who are wrapped in cloaks and scarves. He turns to say goodbye to me as well but stops frowning when he sees that I’m not dressed to leave.

“Jamie? Aren’t you going with them?” Harry asks me confused about what exactly is happening at the moment.

“I’m not going. I’ve been swamped with school, Quidditch, and homework, so I decided that I’m just going to hang around the castle today and relax a little.” I tell him falling into step beside him as we make out way back to the tower. Snow is starting to hall outside, and the castle is very quiet and still.

“You don’t have to do this for me Jamie.” Harry tells me. I raise my eyebrow at him questioningly.

“I’m not staying because you’ve made me feel bad for you. I’m staying because you’re my friend, and you shouldn’t have to be alone today.” I tell him. Harry opens his mouth to respond but he’s cut off.

“Psst — Harry, Jamie!” We turn, halfway along the third-floor corridor, to see Fred and George peering out at us from behind a statue of a humpbacked, one-eyed witch.

“What are you doing?” says Harry curiously. “How come you’re not going to Hogsmeade?”

“We’ve come to give you a bit of festive cheer before we go,” says Fred, with a mysterious wink. “Come in here. . . .”

He nods toward an empty classroom to the left of the one-eyed statue. Harry and I follow Fred and George inside. George closes the door quietly and then turns, beaming, to look at Harry.

“Early Christmas present for you, Harry,” he says.

Fred pulls something from inside his cloak with a flourish and lays it on one of the desks. It is a large, square, very worn piece of parchment with nothing written on it. Harry and I, suspecting one of Fred and George’s jokes, stare at it.

“What’s that supposed to be?” I ask curiously.

“This, you two, is the secret of our success,” says George, patting the parchment fondly.

“It’s a wrench, giving it to you,” adds Fred, “but we decided last night, your need’s greater than ours.”

“Anyway, we know it by heart,” says George. “We bequeath it to you. We don’t really need it anymore.”

“And what do I need with a bit of old parchment?” wonders Harry.

“A bit of old parchment!” cries Fred, closing his eyes with a grimace as though Harry has mortally offended him. “Explain, George.”

“Well . . . when we were in our first year, Harry — young, carefree, and innocent —”

I snort. I doubt whether Fred and George have ever been innocent.

“— well, more innocent than we are now — we got into a spot of bother with Filch.”

“We let off a Dungbomb in the corridor and it upset him for some reason —”

“So he hauled us off to his office and started threatening us with the usual —”

“— detention —”

“— disembowelment —”

“— and we couldn’t help noticing a drawer in one of his filing cabinets marked Confiscated and Highly Dangerous.” Of course they couldn’t help themselves that’s like dangling candy in front of a baby.

“Don’t tell me —” says Harry, starting to grin.

“Well, what would you’ve done?” says Fred. “George caused a diversion by dropping another Dungbomb, I whipped the drawer open and grabbed — this.”

“It’s not as bad as it sounds, you know,” says George. “We don’t reckon Filch ever found out how to work it. He probably suspected what it was, though, or he wouldn’t have confiscated it.”

“And you know how to work it?” I ask them peering at the paper again trying to figure out what exactly it could be.

“Oh yes,” says Fred, smirking. “This little beauty’s taught us more than all the teachers in this school.”

“You’re winding me up,” says Harry, looking at the ragged old bit of parchment.

“Oh, are we?” said George. He takes out his wand, touches the parchment lightly, and says, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

And at once, thin ink lines begin to spread like a spider’s web from the point that George’s wand has touched. They join each other, they crisscross, they fan into every corner of the parchment; then words begin to blossom across the top, great, curly green words, that proclaimed:

Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and ProngsPurveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makersare proud to present

THE MARAUDER’S MAP

 

It is a map showing every detail of the Hogwarts castle and grounds. But the truly remarkable thing is the tiny ink dots moving around it, each labeled with a name in minuscule writing. Astounded, Harry and I bend over it. A labeled dot in the top left corner shows that Professor Dumbledore is pacing his study; the caretaker’s cat, Mrs. Norris, is prowling the second floor; and Peeves the Poltergeist is currently bouncing around the trophy room. And as my eyes travel up and down the familiar corridors, I notice something else.

This map shows a set of passages I have never entered. And many of them seem to lead —“Right into Hogsmeade,” says Fred, tracing one of them with his finger.  “There are seven in all. Now, Filch knows about these four” — he points them out — “but we’re sure we’re the only ones who know about these. Don’t bother with the one behind the mirror on the fourth floor. We used it until last winter, but it’s caved in — completely blocked. And we don’t reckon anyone’s ever used this one, because the Whomping Willow’s planted right over the entrance. But this one here, this one leads right into the cellar of Honeydukes. We’ve used it loads of times. And as you might’ve noticed, the entrance is right outside this room, through that one-eyed old crone’s hump.”

“Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs,” sighs George, patting the heading of the map. “We owe them so much.” This is probably one of the coolest things that I’ve ever seen in my entire life. I’m not sorry to say that I’m incredibly jealous of Harry right now.

“Noble men, working tirelessly to help a new generation of lawbreakers,” says Fred solemnly.

“This is bloody wicked.” I proclaim reverently. Fred and George beam at me.

“That it is Jamie. Don’t worry I’m sure that the four of you will put it to good use. You know where to find us.” George tells me shooting me a meaningful look while Harry looks confusedly at the three of us.

“Right,” says George briskly. “Don’t forget to wipe it after you’ve used it —”

“— or anyone can read it,” Fred says warningly.

“Just tap it again and say, ‘Mischief managed!’ And it’ll go blank.”

“So, young Harry, Jamie,” says Fred, in an uncanny impersonation of Percy, “mind you behave yourself.”

“See you in Honeydukes,” calls George, winking. They leave the room, both smirking in a satisfied sort of way.

“Okay this has got to be the coolest gift anyone has ever gotten!” I exclaim. Harry grins back at me now that the shock has worn off.

“So?” I say walking over to the door of the classroom.

“So…” Harry asks trailing off.

“We’re going right? Hogsmeade! You can go now since no one will see you leave the castle!” I tell him excitedly. I’ve been wanting to go to the village myself for a while as well.

“Okay, but we have to be smart about this.” Harry tells me a grin of his own blossoming on his face.

“Yes! I’ve always wanted to go to Hogsmeade!” I cry pumping my fist and doing a few excited hops in excitement. Harry laughs at me, and puts his hands on my shoulders as if trying to contain my excitement quite literally.

“Calm down! We have to be quiet about this.” Harry says lowering his voice in example. I grin and nod my head quickly. Harry opens up the door slowly, and looks in both directions down the hallway. He waves his hand, and I follow him out and over to the statue of the one eyed witch.

We must have passed this statue millions of times and never realized that there was a passage behind there. “What do we do?” I whisper to Harry, who is looking down at the map with his brow furrowed in thought.

Suddenly Harry’s head shoots up and taps the statue of the witch.

“Dissendium!” Harry whispers, tapping the stone witch again. At once, the statue’s hump opens wide enough to admit a fairly thin person. Harry glances quickly up and down the corridor, then tucks the map away again, hoists himself into the hole headfirst, and pushed himself forward.

Well I guess that we’re playing follow the leader today. I give him a little bit of time in which to get out of the way, then I push myself through as well. I slide a considerable way down what feels like a stone slide, then land on cold, damp earth. Harry helps up, looking around. It is pitch dark. I pull out my wand. “Lumos” I say.

Light floods the area and we see that we are in a very narrow, low, earthy passageway. Harry raises the map, taps it with the tip of his wand, and mutters, “Mischief managed!” The map goes blank at once.

“How’d you know how to get in?” I ask him curiously.

“The map showed me. I’ll show you some other time.” Harry promises me. I nod my head thankful when Harry lights his wand as well.

The passage twists and turns, more like the burrow of a giant rabbit than anything else. We hurry along it, stumbling now and then on the uneven floor, holding our wands out in front of us.

It took ages, but we have the thought of Honeydukes to sustain us. After what feels like an hour, the passage begins to rise. Panting, we speed up, our faces hot, and feet very cold.

Ten minutes later, we come to the foot of some worn stone steps, which rise out of sight above him. Careful not to make any noise, Harry begins to climb. A hundred steps, two hundred steps, we lose count as we climb, watching our feet. . . . Then, without warning, my head hits something hard.

With a quiet whimper I rub the sore spot on my head. “It seemed to be a trapdoor.” Harry whispers, massaging the top of his head, listening. We can’t hear any sounds above us. Very slowly, we push the trapdoor open and peer over the edge.

We are in a cellar, which is full of wooden crates and boxes. Harry climbs out of the trapdoor and replaces it once I’m out — it blends so perfectly with the dusty floor that it is impossible to tell it was there. We creep slowly towards the wooden staircase that leads upstairs. Now we can definitely hear voices, not to mention the tinkle of a bell and the opening and shutting of a door.

Wondering what we ought to do, we suddenly hear a door open much closer at hand; somebody is about to come downstairs. This can’t be good. “And get another box of Jelly Slugs, dear, they’ve nearly cleaned us out —” says a woman’s voice.

A pair of feet is coming down the staircase. I pull Harry behind an enormous crate and wait for the footsteps to pass. We hear the man shifting boxes against the opposite wall. We might not get another chance —

Quickly and silently, Harry and I dodge out from our hiding place and climb the stairs; looking back, I saw an enormous backside and shiny bald head, buried in a box. We reach the door at the top of the stairs, slip through it, and find ourselves behind the counter of Honeydukes — we duck, crawl sideways, and then straighten up.

Oh my Merlin! Honeydukes is so crowded with Hogwarts students that no one looks twice at Harry. This is quite possibly one of the most glorious sights in my life; I think that I may cry!

There are shelves upon shelves of the most succulent-looking sweets imaginable. Creamy chunks of nougat, shimmering pink squares of coconut ice, fat, honey-colored toffees; hundreds of different kinds of chocolate in neat rows; there is a large barrel of Every Flavor Beans, and another of Fizzing Whizbees, the levitating sherbet balls that Ron has mentioned; along yet another wall are “Special Effects” sweets: Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum (which fills a room with bluebell-colored bubbles that refuse to pop for days), the strange, splintery Toothflossing Stringmints, tiny black Pepper Imps (“Breathe fire for your friends!”), Ice Mice (“Hear your teeth chatter and squeak!”), peppermint creams shaped like toads (“Hop realistically in the stomach!”), fragile sugar-spun quills, and exploding bonbons.

This must be one of the most glorious places on earth! Harry and I squeeze oursleves through a crowd of sixth years and see a sign hanging in the farthest corner of the shop (UNUSUAL TASTES). Ron and Hermione are standing underneath it, examining a tray of blood-flavored lollipops. We sneak up behind them.

“Ugh, no, Harry won’t want one of those, they’re for vampires, I expect,” Hermione is saying.

“How about these?” asks Ron, shoving a jar of Cockroach Clusters under Hermione’s nose.

“Definitely not,” says Harry.

Ron nearly drops the jar.

“Harry! Jamie!” squeals Hermione. “What are you doing here? How — how did you — ?”

“Wow!” says Ron, looking very impressed, “you both learned to Apparate!”

“’Course we haven’t,” I say. Harry drops his voice so that none of the sixth years could hear him and tells them all about the Marauder’s Map.

“How come Fred and George never gave it to me!” says Ron, outraged. “I’m their brother!”

“But Harry isn’t going to keep it!” says Hermione, as though the idea is ludicrous. “He’s going to hand it in to Professor McGonagall, aren’t you, Harry?”

“No, I’m not!” says Harry.

“Why should he?” I say.

“Are you mad?” says Ron, goggling at Hermione. “Hand in something that good?”

“If I hand it in, I’ll have to say where I got it! Filch would know Fred and George had nicked it!”

“But what about Sirius Black?” Hermione hisses. “He could be using one of the passages on that map to get into the castle! The teachers have got to know!” Well she might have a point— a really small one.

“He can’t be getting in through a passage,” says Harry quickly. “There are seven secret tunnels on the map, right? Fred and George reckon Filch already knows about four of them. And of the other three — one of them’s caved in, so no one can get through it. One of them’s got the Whomping Willow planted over the entrance, so you can’t get out of it. And the one I just came through — well — it’s really hard to see the entrance to it down in the cellar, so unless he knew it was there . . .”

Harry hesitates. What if Black did know the passage was there? Ron, however, clears his throat significantly, and points to a notice pasted on the inside of the sweetshop door.

——— BY ORDER OF ———

THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC

Customers are reminded that until further notice, dementors will be patrolling the streets of Hogsmeade every night after sundown. This measure has been put in place for the safety of Hogsmeade residents and will be lifted upon the recapture of Sirius Black. It is therefore advisable that you complete your shopping well before nightfall.

Merry Christmas!

“See?” says Ron quietly. “I’d like to see Black try and break into Honeydukes with dementors swarming all over the village. Anyway, Hermione, the Honeydukes owners would hear a break-in, wouldn’t they? They live over the shop!”

Yes, she’s outmatched on this one. “Yes, but — but —” Hermione seems to be struggling to find another problem. “Look, Harry still shouldn’t be coming into Hogsmeade. He hasn’t got a signed form! If anyone finds out, he’ll be in so much trouble! And it’s not nightfall yet — what if Sirius Black turns up today? Now?”

“He’d have a job spotting Harry in this,” says Ron, nodding through the mullioned windows at the thick, swirling snow. “Come on, Hermione, it’s Christmas. Harry deserves a break.”

“Besides he’s already out here, we might as well make the most of it!” I cry.

Hermione bites her lip, looking extremely worried.

“Are you going to report me?” Harry asks her, grinning.

“Oh — of course not — but honestly, Harry —”

“Seen the Fizzing Whizbees, Harry?” asks Ron, grabbing him and leading us over to their barrel. “And the Jelly Slugs? And the Acid Pops? Fred gave me one of those when I was seven — it burnt a hole right through my tongue. I remember Mum walloping him with her broomstick.” Ron stares broodingly into the Acid Pop box.  “Reckon Fred’d take a bit of Cockroach Cluster if I told him they were peanuts?”

“Not very likely.” I reply knowing that the twins would know what they really are.

When Ron and Hermione have paid for all their sweets, the four of us leave Honeydukes for the blizzard outside.

Hogsmeade looks like a Christmas card; the little thatched cottages and shops are all covered in a layer of crisp snow; there are holly wreaths on the doors and strings of enchanted candles hanging in the trees.

I shiver; unlike the other two, we don’t have our cloaks. We head up the street, heads bowed against the wind, Ron and Hermione shouting through their scarves.

“That’s the post office —”

“Zonko’s is up there —”

“We could go up to the Shrieking Shack —”

“Tell you what,” says Ron, his teeth chattering, “shall we go for a butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks?”

Harry and I are more than willing; the wind is fierce and my hands are freezing, so we cross the road, and in a few minutes are entering the tiny inn.

It is extremely crowded, noisy, warm, and smoky. A curvy sort of woman with a pretty face is serving a bunch of rowdy warlocks up at the bar.

“That’s Madam Rosmerta,” says Ron. “I’ll get the drinks, shall I?” he adds, going slightly red. Oh brother what am I going to do with him?

Harry, Hermione, and I make our way to the back of the room, where there is a small, vacant table between the window and a handsome Christmas tree, which stands next to the fireplace. Ron comes back five minutes later, carrying gour foaming tankards of hot butterbeer.

“Merry Christmas!” he says happily, raising his tankard.

“Happy Holidays!” I respond to the salute. I drink deeply. It is the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted and seems to heat every bit of me from the inside. Thank you Merlin!

A sudden breeze ruffles my hair. The door of the Three Broomsticks has opened again. I look over the rim of my tankard and choke.

Professors McGonagall and Flitwick have just entered the pub with a flurry of snowflakes, shortly followed by Hagrid, who is deep in conversation with a portly man in a lime-green bowler hat and a pinstriped cloak — Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic.

Hermione, Ron, and I instantly shove Harry down under the table so that he’s not seen. Hermione whispers, “Mobiliarbus!”

The Christmas tree beside our table rises a few inches off the ground, drifts sideways, and lands with a soft thump right in front of our table, hiding us from view.

“A small gillywater —”

“Mine,” says Professor McGonagall’s voice.

“Four pints of mulled mead —”

“Ta, Rosmerta,” says Hagrid.

“A cherry syrup and soda with ice and umbrella —”

“Mmm!” says Professor Flitwick, smacking his lips.

“So you’ll be the red currant rum, Minister.”

“Thank you, Rosmerta, m’dear,” says Fudge’s voice. “Lovely to see you again, I must say. Have one yourself, won’t you? Come and join us. . . .”

“Well, thank you very much, Minister.” What are they all doing here? This is a rather odd bunch to be meeting.

“So, what brings you to this neck of the woods, Minister?” comes Madam Rosmerta’s voice.

He says in a quiet voice, “What else, m’dear, but Sirius Black? I daresay you heard what happened up at the school at Halloween?”

“I did hear a rumor,” admits Madam Rosmerta.

“Did you tell the whole pub, Hagrid?” asks Professor McGonagall exasperatedly.

“Do you think Black’s still in the area, Minister?” whispers Madam Rosmerta.

“I’m sure of it,” says Fudge shortly.

“You know that the dementors have searched my pub twice?” says Madam Rosmerta, a slight edge to her voice. “Scared all my customers away. . . . It’s very bad for business, Minister.”

“Rosmerta, m’dear, I don’t like them any more than you do,” says Fudge uncomfortably. “Necessary precaution . . . unfortunate, but there you are. . . . I’ve just met some of them. They’re in a fury against Dumbledore — he won’t let them inside the castle grounds.”

“I should think not,” says Professor McGonagall sharply. “How are we supposed to teach with those horrors floating around?” I agree I will not step foot into a classroom if they were lurking around the halls.

“Here, here!” squeaks tiny Professor Flitwick, whose feet are dangling a foot from the ground.

“All the same,” demurs Fudge, “they are here to protect you all from something much worse. . . . We all know what Black’s capable of. . . .”

“Do you know, I still have trouble believing it,” says Madam Rosmerta thoughtfully. “Of all the people to go over to the Dark Side, Sirius Black was the last I’d have thought . . . I mean, I remember him when he was a boy at Hogwarts. If you’d told me then what he was going to become, I’d have said you’d had too much mead.”

“You don’t know the half of it, Rosmerta,” says Fudge gruffly. “The worst he did isn’t widely known.”

“The worst?” says Madam Rosmerta, her voice alive with curiosity. “Worse than murdering all those poor people, you mean?”

“I certainly do,” replies Fudge.

“I can’t believe that. What could possibly be worse?”

“You say you remember him at Hogwarts, Rosmerta,” murmurs Professor McGonagall. “Do you remember who his best friend was?”

“Naturally,” says Madam Rosmerta, with a small laugh. “Never saw one without the other, did you? The number of times I had them in here — ooh, they used to make me laugh. Quite the double act, Sirius Black and James Potter!”

Harry drops his tankard with a loud clunk. Ron and I both kick him.

“Precisely,” says Professor McGonagall. “Black and Potter. Ringleaders of their little gang. Both very bright, of course — exceptionally bright, in fact — but I don’t think we’ve ever had such a pair of troublemakers —”

“I dunno,” chuckles Hagrid. “Fred and George Weasley could give ’em a run fer their money.”

“You’d have thought Black and Potter were brothers!” chimes in Professor Flitwick. “Inseparable!”

“Of course they were,” says Fudge. “Potter trusted Black beyond all his other friends. Nothing changed when they left school. Black was best man when James married Lily. Then they named him godfather to Harry. Harry has no idea, of course. You can imagine how the idea would torment him.”

“Because Black turned out to be in league with You-Know-Who?” whispers Madam Rosmerta.

“Worse even than that, m’dear. . . .” Fudge drops his voice and proceeds in a sort of low rumble. “Not many people are aware that the Potters knew You-Know-Who was after them. Dumbledore, who was of course working tirelessly against You-Know-Who, had a number of useful spies. One of them tipped him off, and he alerted James and Lily at once. He advised them to go into hiding. Well, of course, You-Know-Who wasn’t an easy person to hide from. Dumbledore told them that their best chance was the Fidelius Charm.”

“How does that work?” asks Madam Rosmerta, breathless with interest. Professor Flitwick clears his throat.

“An immensely complex spell,” he says squeakily, “involving the magical concealment of a secret inside a single, living soul. The information is hidden inside the chosen person, or Secret-Keeper, and is henceforth impossible to find — unless, of course, the Secret-Keeper chooses to divulge it. As long as the Secret-Keeper refused to speak, You-Know-Who could search the village where Lily and James were staying for years and never find them, not even if he had his nose pressed against their sitting-room window!”

“So Black was the Potters’ Secret-Keeper?” whispers Madam Rosmerta.

“Naturally,” says Professor McGonagall. “James Potter told Dumbledore that Black would die rather than tell where they were, that Black was planning to go into hiding himself . . . and yet, Dumbledore remained worried. I remember him offering to be the Potters’ Secret-Keeper himself.”

“He suspected Black?” gasps Madam Rosmerta.

“He was sure that somebody close to the Potters had been keeping You-Know-Who informed of their movements,” says Professor McGonagall darkly. “Indeed, he had suspected for some time that someone on our side had turned traitor and was passing a lot of information to You-Know-Who.”

“But James Potter insisted on using Black?”

“He did,” says Fudge heavily. “And then, barely a week after the Fidelius Charm had been performed —”

“Black betrayed them?” breathes Madam Rosmerta. I suck in a sharp breath of air.

“He did indeed. Black was tired of his double-agent role, he was ready to declare his support openly for You-Know-Who, and he seems to have planned this for the moment of the Potters’ death. But, as we all know, You-Know-Who met his downfall in little Harry Potter. Powers gone, horribly weakened, he fled. And this left Black in a very nasty position indeed. His master had fallen at the very moment when he, Black, had shown his true colors as a traitor. He had no choice but to run for it —”

“Filthy, stinkin’ turncoat!” Hagrid says, so loudly that half the bar went quiet and I jump in my chair.

“Shh!” snaps Professor McGonagall.

“I met him!” growls Hagrid. “I musta bin the last ter see him before he killed all them people! It was me what rescued Harry from Lily an’ James’s house after they was killed! Jus’ got him outta the ruins, poor little thing, with a great slash across his forehead, an’ his parents dead . . . an’ Sirius Black turns up, on that flyin’ motorbike he used ter ride. Never occurred ter me what he was doin’ there. I didn’ know he’d bin Lily an’ James’s Secret-Keeper. Thought he’d jus’ heard the news o’ You-Know-Who’s attack an’ come ter see what he could do. White an’ shakin’, he was. An’ yeh know what I did? I COMFORTED THE MURDERIN’ TRAITOR!” Hagrid roars.

“Hagrid, please!” says Professor McGonagall. “Keep your voice down!”

“How was I ter know he wasn’ upset abou’ Lily an’ James? It was You-Know-Who he cared abou’! An’ then he says, ‘Give Harry ter me, Hagrid, I’m his godfather, I’ll look after him —’ Ha! But I’d had me orders from Dumbledore, an’ I told Black no, Dumbledore said Harry was ter go ter his aunt an’ uncle’s. Black argued, but in the end he gave in. Told me ter take his motorbike ter get Harry there. ‘I won’t need it anymore,’ he says.”

“I shoulda known there was somethin’ fishy goin’ on then. He loved that motorbike, what was he givin’ it ter me for? Why wouldn’ he need it anymore? Fact was, it was too easy ter trace. Dumbledore knew he’d bin the Potters’ Secret-Keeper. Black knew he was goin’ ter have ter run fer it that night, knew it was a matter o’ hours before the Ministry was after him.”

“But what if I’d given Harry to him, eh? I bet he’d’ve pitched him off the bike halfway out ter sea. His bes’ friends’ son! But when a wizard goes over ter the Dark Side, there’s nothin’ and no one that matters to ’em anymore. . . .”

A long silence follows Hagrid’s story. Then Madam Rosmerta says with some satisfaction, “But he didn’t manage to disappear, did he? The Ministry of Magic caught up with him next day!”

“Alas, if only we had,” says Fudge bitterly. “It was not we who found him. It was little Peter Pettigrew — another of the Potters’ friends. Maddened by grief, no doubt, and knowing that Black had been the Potters’ Secret-Keeper, he went after Black himself.” Oh this can’t end well.

“Pettigrew . . . that fat little boy who was always tagging around after them at Hogwarts?” asks Madam Rosmerta.

“Hero-worshipped Black and Potter,” says Professor McGonagall. “Never quite in their league, talent-wise. I was often rather sharp with him. You can imagine how I — how I regret that now. . . .” She sounds as though she has a sudden head cold.

The four of us are listening in with a morbid curiosity. “There, now, Minerva,” says Fudge kindly, “Pettigrew died a hero’s death. Eyewitnesses — Muggles, of course, we wiped their memories later — told us how Pettigrew cornered Black. They say he was sobbing, ‘Lily and James, Sirius! How could you?’ And then he went for his wand. Well, of course, Black was quicker. Blew Pettigrew to smithereens. . . .”

Professor McGonagall blows her nose and says thickly, “Stupid boy . . . foolish boy . . . he was always hopeless at dueling . . . should have left it to the Ministry. . . .”

“I tell yeh, if I’d got ter Black before little Pettigrew did, I wouldn’t’ve messed around with wands — I’d’ve ripped him limb — from — limb,” Hagrid growls.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Hagrid,” says Fudge sharply. “Nobody but trained Hit Wizards from the Magical Law Enforcement Squad would have stood a chance against Black once he was cornered. I was Junior Minister in the Department of Magical Catastrophes at the time, and I was one of the first on the scene after Black murdered all those people. I — I will never forget it. I still dream about it sometimes. A crater in the middle of the street, so deep it had cracked the sewer below. Bodies everywhere. Muggles screaming. And Black standing there laughing, with what was left of Pettigrew in front of him . . . a heap of bloodstained robes and a few — a few fragments —”

Fudge’s voice stops abruptly. There is the sound of five noses being blown.

“Well, there you have it, Rosmerta,” says Fudge thickly. “Black was taken away by twenty members of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad and Pettigrew received the Order of Merlin, First Class, which I think was some comfort to his poor mother. Black’s been in Azkaban ever since.”

Madam Rosmerta lets out a long sigh. “Is it true he’s mad, Minister?”

“I wish I could say that he was,” says Fudge slowly. “I certainly believe his master’s defeat unhinged him for a while. The murder of Pettigrew and all those Muggles was the action of a cornered and desperate man — cruel . . . pointless. Yet I met Black on my last inspection of Azkaban. You know, most of the prisoners in there sit muttering to themselves in the dark; there’s no sense in them . . . but I was shocked at how normal Black seemed. He spoke quite rationally to me. It was unnerving. You’d have thought he was merely bored — asked if I’d finished with my newspaper, cool as you please, said he missed doing the crossword. Yes, I was astounded at how little effect the dementors seemed to be having on him — and he was one of the most heavily guarded in the place, you know. Dementors outside his door day and night.”

“But what do you think he’s broken out to do?” says Madam Rosmerta. “Good gracious, Minister, he isn’t trying to rejoin You-Know-Who, is he?”

“I daresay that is his — er — eventual plan,” says Fudge evasively. “But we hope to catch Black long before that. I must say, You-Know-Who alone and friendless is one thing . . . but give him back his most devoted servant, and I shudder to think how quickly he’ll rise again. . . .”

There was a small chink of glass on wood. Someone has set down their glass.

“You know, Cornelius, if you’re dining with the headmaster, we’d better head back up to the castle,” says Professor McGonagall.

One by one the teachers disappear from the bar and Madam Rosmerta goes back over to the counter to deal with some more customers. Before any of us can react though Harry shoots out from under the table, and to the door. I scramble out of my chair to follow him.

Once I manage to get outside I run as fast as I can through the blowing snow after my friend. I finally catch Harry at the side of the woods. “Harry!” I cry. He spins around on me, his eyes red and it looks like he’s been crying.

“Don’t say it!” He cries.

“Harry…” I try again.

“You don’t understand Jamie! You haven’t lost everything that’s mattered to you before, then find out that someone that your family had trust had betrayed them! You just don’t understand!” Harry shouts, spinning back around and hurrying back into town and the secret passage.

I stand there watching as Hermione and Ron run after him. He really thinks that I don’t understand? I’m probably the only one in the who castle who can understand how he feels. “Jamie?” A voice sounds from behind me. I turn around to see Ariana standing there bundled up in her cloak, hat, and two scarfs her house one and a fuzzy wool one.

“What are you doing out here? You don’t even have a cloak on are you insane?” Arian cries, unwinding the fuzzy scarf from her neck, she wraps it around mine. She freezes when she notices the tears on my cheeks.

“Jamie… are you okay?” She asks me softly. I open my mouth to respond but between the shivering, and the emotions I’m only able to sob.

“Oh Jamie, it’s okay… let’s head back to the castle and get you warmed up. We’ll head to the kitchens and the elves will get you some warm soup, then you can tell me what’s wrong.” Ariana tells me leading me up the path that leads to the castle.

I’ve stopped listening to her after a while content to just let her lead me on for I know that she’ll take care of me.


	9. The Firebolt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

Chapter 9- The Firebolt

 

It takes two bowls of soup, and three glasses of hot cocoa after getting back to the castle for me to calm down, telling Ariana everything (well mostly everything), and for her to talk some sense back into me. She was very patient as she explained that Harry having heard something that shocking, and damaging about his family must have been a great shock to him.

She told me that not everyone when faced with upsetting news can hold their emotions back enough to not lash out at the first person that they see. I had retaliated with the fact that I seemed to be Harry’s favorite punching bag as of late when it comes to his ‘accidental’ outbursts.

To that Ariana looked a little more hesitant, and suggested that if Harry didn’t apologize tomorrow then maybe I should go and try to talk to him. I had sighed at that point because it was getting really tiring being the big person all the time. We skip dinner that night and I climb back to Gryffindor tower y myself after promising Ariana that I would be fine, and talk to Hermione when I got back.

Sir Cadogan smiled when he saw me and told me about a wild adventure that he had in a portrait of singing monks today, then lets me through the portrait. I stumble into the common room tired and my feet still a little numb from the cold. I drag myself up the steps to the girls dormitory and push into the room for the third years.

The room is mostly silent for the other girls had gone to sleep all expect for one girl whose bed was directly next to mine. I made it to my bed before I managed to fall face first onto my bed with a muffled moan. Before I realized what had happened there was a warm body pushed up against mine snugly, and bushy hair tickling my face.

“Jamie! Are you okay?” Hermione asked me softly keeping her voice down as to not wake our roommates that are sleeping. I can hear the worry clearly in her voice. I groaned in response to her worried query. “I’m sorry for earlier Jamie. We were just worried about Harry is all, he had some really bad stuff dropped on him today. Of course that doesn’t excuse him from what he told you…” Hermione babbles nervously.

I turn my head so that I can see my worried friend’s face in the darkness. “It’s okay Mione I’m not mad. I understand what he’s going through. This is pretty much what happened when I found out about Augustus… it always hurts the most when it hits close to home.” I tell her. Hermione gives me a look that is too wise for her years.

“Harry is just too stubborn to realize that he needs to accept that his life is not the only one that’s been changed by the war with Y— Voldemort.” Hermione says his name for the first time. I nod my head and close my eyes slowly feeling sleep beginning to pull them down.

I feel my shoes being tugged off, and the blankets from under me shift, as Hermione tugs them forcefully from under me, so that she can lay them on top of me. “Goodnight Jamie. I wish that all of this stuff hadn’t happened to you and Harry. No one should have to deal with all of this.” Hermione says softly with a sigh, and I feel sleep tugging me down into its heavy luring depths.

* * *

 

The next morning Hermione, Ron, and I make our way to breakfast since Harry is still deeply asleep and couldn’t be woken. The Hall is a flurry of kids bidding goodbye to their friends so that they can make for the carriages to take them to the train and away from here for the holiday.

Ron was awkwardly attempting to stumble through another apology that he thinks was needed, but I wave him off with a smile because he did the right thing last night. I still feel a little bad but not nearly as much as I had last night. Now I’m mostly worried about how Harry is going to take all of this. I didn’t handle the situation the best way when Augustus happened to me.

Then again Harry isn’t like me. Harry expresses himself far better than I do. Thankfully Malfoy and his gang of daft apes are leaving for the holiday. I don’t think that I could stand spending another holiday with him running around free. The three of us talk silently over the information that he had learned yesterday about Sirius Black.

I had caught the eye of Ariana Dumbledore earlier this morning as she looked up worriedly from her porridge, and I sent her a reassuring smile. She had grinned back in reply and returned her focus to her friend’s conversation. Luka’s face is a storm cloud though; since I’m ninety percent sure that Ariana’s told him what had happened last night, before I had arrived for breakfast.

I can only hope that my brother doesn’t do anything stupid like punching Harry again like last time. When we get up to leave Luka gets up and comes over to talk to me. “Are you okay Jamie? Do I need to go and remind that so called friend of yours that I meant business the last time that I hit him?” Luka growls softly.

I smile fondly at my twin, and squeeze his arm gratefully. “I’m fine Luka. Ariana helped make a lot of sense out of what happened yesterday. I have a feeling that we’re going to be just okay. Besides if there is anyone that can understand how Harry’s feeling it would be the two of us.” I tell him.

Luka frowns considering what I’ve told him. “Since when have you and Ariana spent so much time together? I thought that you two had a strict no communication policy. Dare I say that you two are actually becoming friends?” Luka jokes, grinning at me madly. I shoot a scathing glare at my twin. Before I can take a swipe at him, he darts out of sight and down a corridor.

A little later in the day Ron, Hermione, and I are found lounging in the common room. I’m playing with my charmed little paper creatures. I had considered adding a dementor to my collection but quickly decided against it for I don’t want a reminder of those beasts that ready on hand.

So instead I’m sketching in my book. I’m attempting to get the shading just correct in the hair and it’s not exactly right, and it’s driving me crazy. Ron is attempting yet again to teach Hermione how to play wizard’s chess. She’s gotten a tiny better over the years but not by much.

I think everyone is just about ready to give up and label her a lost cause. After Ron swiftly beats Hermione for the third time in a row, he growls and stalks up the stairs to the boy’s dormitory. Everyone not staying in the castle over the holidays have left so the common room is empty except for us.

A few minutes later Ron descends the stairs, but this time accompanied by a bedraggled Harry. Harry and I both tense when we see the other. I abandon the sketch that I’m working on to meet Harry’s gaze head on. “Go on mate. What you said wasn’t right.” Ron whispers, attempting to be quiet. Harry does actually look ashamed.

“J-Jamie I’m sorry for what I said. I-I don’t know what came over me. What happened… it was just all too much.” Harry tells me looking for the right words in which to apologize to me with. I let out a shaky breath of air.

“I’ve been a real prat to you for the last few weeks. I-I see now how hard it must have been from you to deal with the knowledge that someone betrayed your family now.” He says.

“Its okay Harry. Something like this is hard to deal with. It’s been months since I’ve found out about Augustus and I still don’t know how to handle the situation. I’m frightened half the time and he’s still securely locked away in Azkeban. I forgive you mate, now enough of this.” I tell him with a smile. I get up and give my friend a quick hug to let him know that we’re okay.

Harry breaths out a sigh of relief when we hug, and when we separate he blushes at the pleased happy looks that our friends are sporting. Harry goes and slumps into a chair next to the fire. I return to my seat and pick up my sketchbook. Snow is still falling outside the windows. Crookshanks is spread out in front of the fire like a large, ginger rug.

“You really don’t look well, you know,” Hermione says, peering anxiously into his face.

“I’m fine,” says Harry.

“Harry, listen,” says Hermione, exchanging a look with Ron and me, “you must be really upset about what we heard yesterday. But the thing is, you mustn’t go doing anything stupid.”

“Like what?” asks Harry.

“Like trying to go after Black,” says Ron sharply.

“You won’t, will you, Harry?” says Hermione.

“Because Black’s not worth dying for,” Ron pitches in. It’s pretty obvious that they have worked on this deterring speech for a while. A dark look crosses Harry’s face. Oh great this isn’t going to be good.

“D’you know what I see and hear every time a dementor gets too near me?” Ron and Hermione shake their heads, looking apprehensive, and my stomach drops remembering my voices. “I can hear my mum screaming and pleading with Voldemort. And if you’d heard your mum screaming like that, just about to be killed, you wouldn’t forget it in a hurry. And if you found out someone who was supposed to be a friend of hers betrayed her and sent Voldemort after her —”

“There’s nothing you can do!” says Hermione, looking stricken. “The dementors will catch Black and he’ll go back to Azkaban and — and serve him right!”

“Harry I understand, I really do. I hear my parents last words that they said to me before they died and I was whisked away. Knowing that the man responsible for their deaths is still alive is agonizing, but there’s nothing that I can do about it without getting hurt myself. I still have people who need me! Just like you!” I cry, pleading for him to believe me.

“Its not the same Jamie. Sirius Black has escaped! You heard what Fudge said. Black isn’t affected by Azkaban like normal people are. It’s not a punishment for him like it is for the others.”

“So what are you saying?” says Ron, looking very tense. “You want to — to kill Black or something?”

“Don’t be silly,” cries Hermione in a panicky voice. “Harry doesn’t want to kill anyone, do you, Harry?” The look in my friend sends shivers down my spine. It’s the look of someone with blood in their eyes. Harry is seriously considering doing that.

“Harry it isn’t worth it. You’re life is worth more than that!” I cry trying to shake some sense into my friend. Harry ignores me.

“Malfoy knows,” he says abruptly. “Remember what he said to me in Potions? ‘If it was me, I’d hunt him down myself. . . . I’d want revenge.’”

“You’re going to take Malfoy’s advice instead of ours?” says Ron furiously.  “Listen . . . you know what Pettigrew’s mother got back after Black had finished with him? Dad told me — the Order of Merlin, First Class, and Pettigrew’s finger in a box. That was the biggest bit of him they could find. Black’s a madman, Harry, and he’s dangerous —”

“Malfoy’s dad must have told him,” says Harry, ignoring Ron. “He was right in Voldemort’s inner circle —”

“Say You-Know-Who, will you?” interjects Ron angrily.

“— so obviously, the Malfoys knew Black was working for Voldemort —”

“— and Malfoy’d love to see you blown into about a million pieces, like Pettigrew! Get a grip. Malfoy’s just hoping you’ll get yourself killed before he has to play you at Quidditch.” I finish angrily. I’m not going to watch my friend die over this. If there’s one thing that I’ve learned it’s that holding a grudge and a poisonous secret is not good for you.

“Harry, please,” says Hermione, her eyes now shining with tears, “please be sensible. Black did a terrible, terrible thing, but d-don’t put yourself in danger, it’s what Black wants. . . . Oh, Harry, you’d be playing right into Black’s hands if you went looking for him. Your mum and dad wouldn’t want you to get hurt, would they? They’d never want you to go looking for Black!”

“I’ll never know what they’d have wanted, because thanks to Black, I’ve never spoken to them,” says Harry shortly. I wince at the low blow. Fine if we’re going to play dirty then lets play dirty.

“You’re not the only one with dead parents Harry. Luka and I will never know what our parents would have wanted for us either, but there is one thing that is for sure. Both of our parents died defending us from evil so that we could live. I don’t think that they’d want us going around murdering people for that is evil Harry. Killing someone out of cold blooded is evil. And even if you don’t think so at the moment, you are above it, and so am I.” I tell him getting to my feet.

“If you need someone to remind you of this you can come to me, Hermione, and Ron and we will remind you. This life that we are going to lead is not going to be an easy one but it is the one that we have been given. I have faith that with the help of each other that we will make it.” I tell him finishing my speech with fire in my eyes.

The common room is quiet for a few seconds before Harry gets up and stands in front of me. The look in his eye is unreadable before the ghost of a smile crosses his face. “So together then?” He asks. I nod my head solemnly. Harry gives me a long look like he’s really seeing me for the first time in a long time.

Then he sticks out his hand to me. “To the end then.” Harry tells me equally as solemnly. I take his hand and we give a firm shake. When we’re done we both smile at each other. We turn to Ron and Hermione who are looking at us with questioning looks. “We’re good. Don’t worry guys I won’t do anything stupid just yet.” Harry says.

“Good,” says Ron, obviously casting around for a change of subject, “it’s the holidays! It’s nearly Christmas! Let’s — let’s go down and see Hagrid. We haven’t visited him for ages!”

“No!” says Hermione quickly. “Harry isn’t supposed to leave the castle, Ron —”

“Yeah, let’s go,” says Harry, brightening up, “and I can ask him how come he never mentioned Black when he told me all about my parents!”

Further discussion of Sirius Black plainly isn’t what Ron has in mind. “Or we could have a game of chess,” he says hastily, “or Gobstones. Percy left a set —”

“Harry…” I warn.

“Don’t worry guys I’m just curious now. No, let’s visit Hagrid,” says Harry firmly.

So we get our cloaks from our dormitories and set off through the portrait hole (“Stand and fight, you yellow-bellied mongrels!”), down through the empty castle and out through the oak front doors.

We make our way slowly down the lawn, making a shallow trench in the glittering, powdery snow, our socks and the hems of our cloaks soaked and freezing. The Forbidden Forest looks as though it has been enchanted, each tree smattered with silver, and Hagrid’s cabin looks like an iced cake. I would almost be relaxed if I didn’t know what conversation was coming up.

Ron knocks, but there is no answer. “He’s not out, is he?” says Hermione, who is shivering under her cloak. I’m shivering as well still not quite feeling recovered from yesterday. Ron has his ear to the door.

“There’s a weird noise,” he says. “Listen — is that Fang?” Harry, Hermione, and I put our ears to the door too. From inside the cabin comes a series of low, throbbing moans.

“Think we’d better go and get someone?” asks Ron nervously.

“Hagrid!” I call, thumping the door. “Hagrid, are you in there?” I’m starting to become worried for the half giant.

There is a sound of heavy footsteps, then the door creaks open. Hagrid stands there with his eyes red and swollen, tears splashing down the front of his leather vest.

“Yeh’ve heard?” he bellows, and he flings himself onto my neck. Hagrid being at least twice the size of a normal man, this is no laughing matter. I’m about to collapse under Hagrid’s weight, and I’m rescued by Ron, Harry, and Hermione, who each seize Hagrid under an arm and heave him back into the cabin. Hagrid allows himself to be steered into a chair and slumps over the table, sobbing uncontrollably, his face glazed with tears that drip down into his tangled beard.

“Hagrid, what is it?” asks Hermione, aghast.

Harry spots an official-looking letter lying open on the table. “What’s this, Hagrid?”

Hagrid’s sobs redouble, but he shoves the letter towards Harry, who picks it up and reads aloud:

Dear Mr. Hagrid,

Further to our inquiry into the attack by a hippogriff on a student in your class, we have accepted the assurances of Professor Dumbledore that you bear no responsibility for the regrettable incident.

“Well, that’s okay then, Hagrid!” I say, clapping Hagrid on the shoulder. But Hagrid continues to sob, and waves one of his gigantic hands, inviting Harry to read on.

However, we must register our concern about the hippogriff in question. We have decided to uphold the official complaint of Mr. Lucius Malfoy, and this matter will therefore be taken to the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. The hearing will take place on April 20th, and we ask you to present yourself and your hippogriff at the Committee’s offices in London on that date. In the meantime, the hippogriff should be kept tethered and isolated.

Yours in fellowship . . .

There following is a list of the school governors.

“Oh,” says Ron. “But you said Buckbeak isn’t a bad hippogriff, Hagrid. I bet he’ll get off —”

“Yeh don’ know them gargoyles at the Committee fer the Disposal o’ Dangerous Creatures!” chokes Hagrid, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “They’ve got it in fer interestin’ creatures!” I’m instantly infuriated for any creature that attacks Malfoy for being a gigantic prat is a creature that deserves to live!

A sudden sound from the corner of Hagrid’s cabin makes Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I whip around. Buckbeak the hippogriff is lying in the corner, chomping on something that is oozing blood all over the floor.

“I couldn’ leave him tied up out there in the snow!” chokes Hagrid. “All on his own! At Christmas.”

We look at each other. We have never seen eye to eye with Hagrid about what he calls “interesting creatures” and other people call “terrifying monsters.” On the other hand, there doesn’t seem to be any particular harm in Buckbeak. In fact, by Hagrid’s usual standards, he is positively cute.

“You’ll have to put up a good strong defense, Hagrid,” says Hermione, sitting down and laying a hand on Hagrid’s massive forearm. “I’m sure you can prove Buckbeak is safe.”

“Won’t make no diff’rence!” sobs Hagrid. “Them Disposal devils, they’re all in Lucius Malfoy’s pocket! Scared o’ him! An’ if I lose the case, Buckbeak —”

Hagrid draws his finger swiftly across his throat, then gives a great wail and lurches forward, his face in his arms. “Well that doesn’t mean that we don’t try anyway Hagrid.” I tell him attempting to console him.

“What about Dumbledore, Hagrid?” asks Harry.

“He’s done more’n enough fer me already,” groans Hagrid. “Got enough on his plate what with keepin’ them dementors outta the castle, an’ Sirius Black lurkin’ around —”

Ron and Hermione look quickly at Harry, as though expecting him to start berating Hagrid for not telling him the truth about Black. But Harry seems unable bring himself to do it, not now that he sees Hagrid so miserable and scared. I’m silently thanking Merlin for this.

“Listen, Hagrid,” he says, “you can’t give up. Hermione’s right, you just need a good defense. You can call us as witnesses —”

“I’m sure I’ve read about a case of hippogriff-baiting,” says Hermione thoughtfully, “where the hippogriff got off. I’ll look it up for you, Hagrid, and see exactly what happened.”

Hagrid howls still more loudly. Harry and Hermione look at Ron and I to help them.

“Er — shall I make a cup of tea?” asks Ron. Harry stares at him. “It’s what my mum does whenever someone’s upset,” Ron mutters, shrugging.

“I’ll help. Make sure you don’t burn the place down.” I say going with Ron over to the tiny kitchenette part of the hut.

At last, after many more assurances of help, with a steaming mug of tea in front of him, Hagrid bloes his nose on a handkerchief the size of a tablecloth and says, “Yer right. I can’ afford to go ter pieces. Gotta pull meself together. . . .”

Fang the boarhound comes timidly out from under the table and lays his head on Hagrid’s knee. “I’ve not bin meself lately,” says Hagrid, stroking Fang with one hand and mopping his face with the other. “Worried abou’ Buckbeak, an’ no one likin’ me classes —”

“We do like them!” lies Hermione at once.

“Yeah, they’re great!” says Ron, crossing his fingers under the table. “Er — how are the flobberworms?”

“Dead,” says Hagrid gloomily. “Too much lettuce.”

“Oh no!” I say, my lip twitching.

“An’ them dementors make me feel ruddy terrible an’ all,” says Hagrid, with a sudden shudder. “Gotta walk past ’em ev’ry time I want a drink in the Three Broomsticks. ’S like bein’ back in Azkaban —”

He falls silent, gulping his tea. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I watch him breathlessly. We have never heard Hagrid talk about his brief spell in Azkaban before. After a pause, Hermione says timidly, “Is it awful in there, Hagrid?”

“Yeh’ve no idea,” says Hagrid quietly. “Never bin anywhere like it. Thought I was goin’ mad. Kep’ goin’ over horrible stuff in me mind . . . the day I got expelled from Hogwarts . . . day me dad died . . . day I had ter let Norbert go. . . .”

His eyes fill with tears. Norbert was the baby dragon Hagrid had once won in a game of cards. I shiver thinking about Augustus being in there and how much more deranged he must be becoming there. I shudder at the thought if he ever escapes.

“Yeh can’ really remember who yeh are after a while. An’ yeh can’ see the point o’ livin’ at all. I used ter hope I’d jus’ die in me sleep. . . . When they let me out, it was like bein’ born again, ev’rythin’ came floodin’ back, it was the bes’ feelin’ in the world. Mind, the dementors weren’t keen on lettin’ me go.”

“But you were innocent!” cries Hermione. Hagrid snorts.

“Think that matters to them? They don’ care. Long as they’ve got a couple o’ hundred humans stuck there with ’em, so they can leech all the happiness out of ’em, they don’ give a damn who’s guilty an’ who’s not.”

Hagrid goes quiet for a moment, staring into his tea. Then he says quietly, “Thought o’ jus’ letting Buckbeak go . . . tryin’ ter make him fly away . . . but how d’yeh explain ter a hippogriff it’s gotta go inter hidin’? An’ — an’ I’m scared o’ breakin’ the law. . . .” He looks up at us, tears leaking down his face again. “I don’ ever want ter go back ter Azkaban.”

“You’re never going to Hagrid. Not if we have something to say about it first.” I tell him firmly sure about that as I’ve been. “I share power over House Pendragon with my brother. We hold seat on the Wizengamot. You will never go back.” I tell him firmly.

Hagrid looks at me with a grateful look on his face. “Thank you Jamie.” Hagrid tells me sincerely.

* * *

 

The trip to Hagrid’s, though far from fun, had nevertheless has the effect Ron and Hermione had hoped. Though Harry has by no means forgotten about Black, he can’t brood constantly on revenge if he wants to help Hagrid win his case against the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I go to the library the next day and return to the empty common room laden with books that might help prepare a defense for Buckbeak. The four of us sit in front of the roaring fire, slowly turning the pages of dusty volumes about famous cases of marauding beasts, speaking occasionally when we run across something relevant.

“Here’s something . . . there was a case in 1722 . . . but the hippogriff was convicted — ugh, look what they did to it, that’s disgusting —” I say trying to stop the mental image from coming.

“This might help, look — a manticore savaged someone in 1296, and they let the manticore off — oh — no, that was only because everyone was too scared to go near it. . . .” Ron says grimacing.

Meanwhile, in the rest of the castle, the usual magnificent Christmas decorations have been put up, despite the fact that hardly any of the students remain to enjoy them. Thick streamers of holly and mistletoe are strung along the corridors, mysterious lights shine from inside every suit of armor, and the Great Hall is filled with its usual twelve Christmas trees, glittering with golden stars.

Hogwarts still has to be my favorite place at Christmas time. Everything just looks so magical that I can hardly contain myself. A powerful and delicious smell of cooking pervades the corridors, and by Christmas Eve, it has grown so strong that even Scabbers pokes his nose out of the shelter of Ron’s pocket to sniff hopefully at the air.

I feel him. Christmas morning I wake up nice and early. I push up from my bed to see a nice pile of presents on the foot of my bed. Grinning I throw back the covers and jump out of bed. I pad over to Hermione’s bed, and jump on her startling her from sleep.

“Merry Christmas Mione!” I cry throwing my arms around the yawning girl who starts chuckling.

“Merry Christmas Jamie.” She replies. We pull apart and gather up our presents and take them down to the common room meeting Harry and Ron as they’re descending the stairs with their presents as well.

“Merry Christmas!” We all exchange greetings, plopping down onto the floor in front of the fire with Crookshanks circling us. We start tearing open our presents. I get a jumper from Luka that says ‘Hit Me With Your Best Shot’, a broom servicing kit from Kingsley, and a scarf from Ariana with another dragon flying a broom on it. There’s a note with Ariana’s present: So you don’t have to keep borrowing mine Pendragon.

Ron got me some more Quidditch related items, Hermione gave me an advanced book on charms, and Harry gave me more muggle art supplies with a sweet note on how things are going to be different between us now. My last present is a lumpy package that has Mrs. Weasley’s loopy writing on it.

“Another sweater from Mum . . . maroon again . . . see if you’ve got one.” Ron says glumly. I open the package and take out a warm red sweater with a dragon on the front of it. I break into a grin, and pull it down over my head. It’s soft and warm to the touch, and that makes me smile.

So all in all a good haul this year, we’re all done opening our presents when Harry has one last long thin package to open. “What’s that?” says Ron, looking over, a freshly unwrapped pair of maroon socks in his hand.

“Dunno . . .” Harry rips the parcel open and gasps as a magnificent, gleaming broomstick rolls out onto the floor. My eyes go wide as I take in the broomstick. Ron drops his socks and crawls over to Harry for a closer look at the broomstick. I move closer to Harry as well. Is that what I think it is? It can’t be… can it?

“I don’t believe it,” Harry says hoarsely. It is a Firebolt the dream broom that every Quidditch player dreams and drools over respectively. My eyes move from the golden registration number at the top of the handle, right down to the perfectly smooth, streamlined birch twigs that make up the tail.

“Who sent it to you?” I ask in a hushed voice.

“Look and see if there’s a card,” says Harry. Ron rips apart the Firebolt’s wrappings.

“Nothing! Blimey, who’d spend that much on you?” Ron asks. That’s what I’m wondering. Thank Merlin Hermione has gone back to the library to do more research.

“Well,” says Harry, feeling stunned, “I’m betting it wasn’t the Dursleys.”

“I bet it was Dumbledore,” says Ron, now walking around and around the Firebolt, taking in every glorious inch. “He sent you the Invisibility Cloak anonymously. . . .”

“That was my dad’s, though,” says Harry. “Dumbledore was just passing it on to me. He wouldn’t spend hundreds of Galleons on me. He can’t go giving students stuff like this —”

“I agree with Harry. This is far too an extravagant gift for Dumbledore.” I say.

“That’s why he wouldn’t say it was from him!” says Ron. “In case some git like Malfoy said it was favoritism. Hey, Harry” — Ron gives a great whoop of laughter — “Malfoy! Wait till he sees you on this! He’ll be sick as a pig! This is an international standard broom, this is!”

“I can’t believe this,” Harry mutters, running a hand along the Firebolt, while Ron sinks back onto the ground, laughing his head off at the thought of Malfoy. “Who — ?”

“I know,” says Ron, controlling himself, “I know who it could’ve been — Lupin!”

“What?” I say, now starting to laugh myself. “Lupin? Listen, if he had this much gold, he’d be able to buy himself some new robes.”

“Yeah, but he likes you,” says Ron. “And he was away when your Nimbus got smashed, and he might’ve heard about it and decided to visit Diagon Alley and get this for you —”

“What d’you mean, he was away?” says Harry. “He was ill when I was playing in that match.”

“Well, he wasn’t in the hospital wing,” says Ron. “I was there, cleaning out the bedpans on that detention from Snape, remember?” Harry frowns at Ron.

“I can’t see Lupin affording something like this.” He says.

Just then Hermione comes back into the common room carrying Crookshanks in her arms. He looks very grumpy with a string of tinsel tied around his neck.

“Don’t bring him in here!” says Ron, hurriedly snatching Scabbers from the depths of the wrapping paper and stowing him in his pajama pocket. But Hermione isn’t listening. She dropped Crookshanks onto the ground.

“Oh, Harry! Who sent you that?”

“No idea,” says Harry. “There wasn’t a card or anything with it.” To Harry and Ron’s great surprise, Hermione does not appear either excited or intrigued by the news. On the contrary, her face falls, and she bites her lip.

“What’s the matter with you?” says Ron.

“I don’t know,” says Hermione slowly, “but it’s a bit odd, isn’t it? I mean, this is supposed to be quite a good broom, isn’t it?”

Ron sighs exasperatedly. “It’s the best broom there is, Hermione,” he says.

“So it must’ve been really expensive. . . .”

“Probably cost more than all the Slytherins’ brooms put together,” says Ron happily. I think I know where Hermione is going with this.

“Well . . . who’d send Harry something as expensive as that, and not even tell him they’d sent it?” says Hermione.

“Who cares?” says Ron impatiently. “Listen, Harry, can I have a go on it? Can I?”

“I don’t think anyone should ride that broom just yet!” says Hermione shrilly. Harry and Ron look at her.

“What d’you think Harry’s going to do with it — sweep the floor?” says Ron.

But before Hermione can answer, Crookshanks springs from the floor, right at Ron’s chest. Oh brother this isn’t going to end well. Goodbye peace!

“GET — HIM — OUT — OF — HERE!” Ron bellows as Crookshanks’s claws rip his pajamas and Scabbers attempts a wild escape over his shoulder. Ron seizes Scabbers by the tail and aims a misjudged kick at Crookshanks that hit the side table knocking it over and causing Ron to hop up and down, howling with pain.

I tune out most of the fighting watching Ron and Hermione scream at each other who’s animal is the one at fault. This argument is really starting to get old between the two of them.

“Why can’t the two of them just admit that they actually can stand the other and get on with it?” I ask Harry quietly. Harry chuckles from beside me and shrugs his shoulders at me.

Ron starts complaining about how much weight Scabbers has lost and I roll my eyes. Animals get sick it’s a known fact, that rat is ancient as well so I’m really not all that surprised that he’s not doing so great.

Christmas spirit is definitely thin on the ground in the Gryffindor common room this morning. Hermione has shut Crookshanks in our dormitory, but is furious with Ron for trying to kick him; Ron is still fuming about Crookshanks’s fresh attempt to eat Scabbers. Harry gives up trying to make them talk to each other and devotes himself to examining the Firebolt, which he hasn’t let out of his sight. For some reason this seems to annoy Hermione as well; she doesn’t say anything, but she keeps looking darkly at the broom as though it too has been criticizing her cat.

I go back and pick up my sketchbook to continue what I was drawing. I look down and blush at what the focus of the drawing is.

At lunchtime we go down to the Great Hall, to find that the House tables have been moved against the walls again, and that a single table, set for fifteen, stands in the middle of the room. Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, Sprout, and Flitwick are there, along with Filch, the caretaker, who has taken off his usual brown coat and is wearing a very old and rather moldy-looking tailcoat. There are only three other students, two extremely nervous-looking first years and a sullen-faced Slytherin fifth year, besides from Ariana Dumbledore, and my brother.

“Merry Christmas!” says Dumbledore as Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I approach the table. “As there are so few of us, it seemed foolish to use the House tables. . . . Sit down, sit down!”

We sit down side by side at the end of the table and I’m next to my brother.

“Crackers!” says Dumbledore enthusiastically, offering the end of a large silver noisemaker to Snape, who takes it reluctantly and tugs. With a bang like a gunshot, the cracker flies apart to reveal a large, pointed witch’s hat topped with a stuffed vulture. I can’t help but snort into my pumpkin juice.

The look on his face is priceless! Just remembering the boggart makes me catch Ron’s eye and we both grin; Snape’s mouth thins and he pushes the hat towards Dumbledore, who swaps it for his wizard’s hat at once.

“Dig in!” he advises the table, beaming around. As Harry, Ron, and I are helping ourselves to roast potatoes, the doors of the Great Hall open again. It is Professor Trelawney, gliding towards us as though on wheels. She has put on a green sequined dress in honor of the occasion, making her look more than ever like a glittering, oversized dragonfly.

“Sybill, this is a pleasant surprise!” says Dumbledore, standing up. I catch the face that Ariana makes at her presence. I snicker and she shoots her gaze to me with a sheepish smile. Leave it to Ariana to feel bad about not liking a person.

“I have been crystal gazing, Headmaster,” says Professor Trelawney in her mistiest, most faraway voice, “and to my astonishment, I saw myself abandoning my solitary luncheon and coming to join you. Who am I to refuse the promptings of fate? I at once hastened from my tower, and I do beg you to forgive my lateness. . . .”

“Certainly, certainly,” says Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. “Let me draw you up a chair —”

And he does indeed draw a chair in midair with his wand, which revolves for a few seconds before falling with a thud between Professors Snape and McGonagall.  Professor Trelawney, however, does not sit down; her enormous eyes have been roving around the table, and she suddenly utteres a kind of soft scream.

“I dare not, Headmaster! If I join the table, we shall be sixteen! Nothing could be more unlucky! Never forget that when sixteen dine together, the first to rise will be the first to die!”

“We’ll risk it, Sybill,” says Professor McGonagall impatiently. “Do sit down, the turkey’s getting stone cold.”

Professor Trelawney hesitates, then lowers herself into the empty chair, eyes shut and mouth clenched tight, as though expecting a thunderbolt to hit the table. Professor McGonagall pokes a large spoon into the nearest tureen. “Tripe, Sybill?”

Professor Trelawney ignores her. Eyes open again, she looks around once more and said, “But where is dear Professor Lupin?”

“I’m afraid the poor fellow is ill again,” says Dumbledore, indicating that everybody should start serving themselves. “Most unfortunate that it should happen on Christmas Day.”

“But surely you already knew that, Sybill?” says Professor McGonagall, her eyebrows raised. Okay so there is some tension going on between McGonagall and Trelawney here.

Professor Trelawney gives Professor McGonagall a very cold look. “Certainly I knew, Minerva,” she says quietly. “But one does not parade the fact that one is All-Knowing. I frequently act as though I am not possessed of the Inner Eye, so as not to make others nervous.”

“That explains a great deal,” says Professor McGonagall tartly. Professor Trelawney’s voice suddenly becomes a good deal less misty.

“If you must know, Minerva, I have seen that poor Professor Lupin will not be with us for very long. He seems aware, himself, that his time is short. He positively fled when I offered to crystal gaze for him —”

“Imagine that,” says Professor McGonagall dryly. Okay this is better than those moving pictures shows that Harry goes on about all the time.

“I doubt,” says Dumbledore, in a cheerful but slightly raised voice, which puts an end to Professor McGonagall and Professor Trelawney’s conversation, “that Professor Lupin is in any immediate danger. Severus, you’ve made the potion for him again?”

“Yes, Headmaster,” says Snape. Hmm curious.

“Good,” says Dumbledore. “Then he should be up and about in no time. . . . Derek, have you had any of these chipolatas? They’re excellent.”

The first-year boy turns furiously red on being addressed directly by Dumbledore, and takes the platter of sausages with trembling hands.

Professor Trelawney behaves almost normally until the very end of Christmas dinner, two hours later. Full to bursting with Christmas dinner and still wearing their party hats, Harry and Ron get up first from the table and she shrieks loudly.

“My dears! Which of you left his seat first? Which?”

“Dunno,” says Ron, looking uneasily at Harry.

“I doubt it will make much difference,” says Professor McGonagall coldly, “unless a mad axe-man is waiting outside the doors to slaughter the first into the entrance hall.”

Even Ron laughs. Professor Trelawney looks highly affronted. “Coming?” Harry says to Hermione and me.

“No,” Hermione mutters, “I want a quick word with Professor McGonagall.”

“I want to say Merry Christmas to Luka and Ariana.” I tell them waving the boys off. I shoot Hermione an odd look but she firmly refuses to meet my gaze. Luka and Ariana get up from the table, and I join them as they leave the great hall. Luka has on his Weasley sweater, which is a emerald blue with the same dragon on it that mine is.

“Merry Christmas guys!” I tell them, hugging my brother tightly.

“Same as well Jamie. This has been an exhausting year hasn’t it?” Luka says stretching out and heaving a yawn. “Sorry ‘bout that I stayed up late last night reading my book on this fascinating French wizard who…” Luka starts but trails off.

“You know probably too boring for you. Well I need to hit the sack. See you tomorrow Jamie!” Luka says giving me another hug and Ariana as well. Then he turns and starts up the stairs that will lead to Ravenclaw tower. So now it’s just Ariana and me standing here in the corridor.

I shift nervously and dig into the pocket of my pants. “So I know that I already got you a gift…” I say nervously.

“Yes I love the little plush phoenix that you’ve made to go along with my badger!” Ariana exclaims beaming me a bright smile. I grin at her softly and take out the folded sheet of paper.

“Here… I was messing around with my drawings and this just… sorta happened and I think that you should have it.” I tell her quickly. Ariana takes the paper from my hands and unfolds it. She freezes when she sees what’s on the paper. Slowly she brings her gaze up to mine.

“Jamie this is beautiful? Did you draw this from memory?” She asks me softly. I glance down at the paper that has a picture of her drawn in pencil on it when she was all bundled up out in the snow. I nod my head.

“I-I just want you to know because I don’t think that you do already that… we are friends Ariana. I-I just thought that you should know that.” I finish lamely feeling a blush coming to my cheeks because I’m an idiot. Ariana smiles hugely at me, and takes me in her arms for a tight hug.

“Thank you Jamie, and Merry Christmas.” She tells me. I return the greeting and we part ways, her to her dormitory and me to mine. I hop up the last steps and a drunk Sir Cadogan blushes at me, and swings the portrait open. When I come out into the common room I stop dead.

I was definitely not expecting this. “So that’s it, is it?” says Professor McGonagall beadily, walking over to the fireside and staring at the Firebolt. “Miss Granger has just informed me that you have been sent a broomstick, Potter.” Wait that’s why McGonagall is here?

Harry, Ron, and I look around at Hermione. We can see her forehead reddening over the top of her book, which is upside down.

“May I?” says Professor McGonagall, but she doesn’t wait for an answer before pulling the Firebolt out of their hands. She examins it carefully from handle to twig-ends. “Hmm. And there was no note at all, Potter? No card? No message of any kind?”

Oh this isn’t going to be good. Merlin help us! I’m never going to be able to sleep again! “No,” says Harry blankly.

“I see . . . ,” says Professor McGonagall. “Well, I’m afraid I will have to take this, Potter.”

“W-what?” says Harry, scrambling to his feet. “Why?”

“It will need to be checked for jinxes,” says Professor McGonagall. “Of course, I’m no expert, but I daresay Madam Hooch and Professor Flitwick will strip it down —”

“Strip it down?” repeat Ron and I, as though Professor McGonagall is mad, which she very well might be.

“It shouldn’t take more than a few weeks,” says Professor McGonagall. “You will have it back if we are sure it is jinx-free.” Oh no! This was our chance to ride a Firebolt and win some games!

“There’s nothing wrong with it!” says Harry, his voice shaking slightly. “Honestly, Professor —”

“You can’t know that, Potter,” says Professor McGonagall, quite kindly, “not until you’ve flown it, at any rate, and I’m afraid that is out of the question until we are certain that it has not been tampered with. I shall keep you informed.”

Professor McGonagall turns on her heel and carries the Firebolt out of the portrait hole, which closes behind her. Harry stands staring after her, the tin of High-Finish Polish still clutched in his hands. Ron, however, rounds on Hermione.

“What did you go running to McGonagall for?” Hermione throws her book aside. She is still pink in the face, but stands up and faces Ron defiantly.

“Because I thought — and Professor McGonagall agrees with me — that that broom was probably sent to Harry by Sirius Black!” And a Merry Christmas to no one.


	10. For the Love of Merlin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

Chapter 10- For the Love of Merlin

 

So everything is eerily familiar in a way. Harry knows that Hermione had meant well, but that doesn’t stop him from being angry with her. He had been the owner of the best broom in the world for a few short hours, and now, because of her interference, he doesn’t know whether he will ever see it again. He is positive that there is nothing wrong with the Firebolt now, but what sort of state would it be in once it has been subjected to all sorts of anti-jinx tests?

I know all his arguments by heart for I have heard them nonstop since the broom has been confiscated. Ron is furious with Hermione too. As far as he is concerned, the stripping-down of a brand-new Firebolt is nothing less than criminal damage. I happen to agree on that point.

Hermione, who remains convinced that she has acted for the best, starts avoiding the common room. I do feel bad about that. Harry and Ron suppose she has taken refuge in the library and don’t try to persuade her to come back. All in all, I am glad when the rest of the school returns shortly after New Year, and Gryffindor Tower becomes crowded and noisy again.

Wood seeks Harry out on the night before term starts. I happen to be sitting next to him at the small table by the window that we usually occupy. I’m putting the finishing touches on my paper Buckbeak and it’s going to be awesome.

“Have a good Christmas?” he says, and then, without waiting for an answer, he sits down, lowers his voice, and says, “I’ve been doing some thinking over Christmas, Harry. After the last match, you know. If the dementors come to the next one . . . I mean . . . we can’t afford you to — well —”

Wood breaks off, looking awkward. “I’m working on it,” says Harry quickly. “Professor Lupin said he’d train me to ward off the dementors. We should be starting this week. He said he’d have time after Christmas.”

“Ah,” says Wood, his expression clearing. “Well, in that case — I really didn’t want to lose you as Seeker, Harry. And have you ordered a new broom yet?”

“No,” says Harry.

“What! You’d better get a move on, you know — you can’t ride that Shooting Star against Ravenclaw!”

“He got a Firebolt for Christmas,” I say.

“A Firebolt? No! Seriously? A — a real Firebolt?”

“Don’t get excited, Oliver,” says Harry gloomily. “I haven’t got it anymore. It was confiscated.” And he explains all about how the Firebolt is now being checked for jinxes.

“Jinxed? How could it be jinxed?” Oliver demands.

“Sirius Black,” Harry says wearily. “He’s supposed to be after me. So McGonagall reckons he might have sent it.”

Waving aside the information that a famous murderer is after his Seeker, Wood says, “But Black couldn’t have bought a Firebolt! He’s on the run! The whole country’s on the lookout for him! How could he just walk into Quality Quidditch Supplies and buy a broomstick?”

“I know,” says Harry, “but McGonagall still wants to strip it down —” Wood goes pale.

“I’ll go and talk to her, Harry,” he promises. “I’ll make her see reason. . . . A Firebolt . . . a real Firebolt, on our team . . . She wants Gryffindor to win as much as we do. . . . I’ll make her see sense. A Firebolt . . .”

“Well I think that went rather well.” Ron says with a satisfied grin on his face. I look down at the now fluttering and flying hippogriff on the table in front of me. Did it go well?

* * *

 

Classes start again the next day. The last thing anyone feels like doing is spending two hours on the grounds on a raw January morning, but Hagrid has provided a bonfire full of salamanders for our enjoyment, and we spend an unusually good lesson collecting dry wood and leaves to keep the fire blazing while the flame-loving lizards scamper up and down the crumbling, white-hot logs. The first Divination lesson of the new term is much less fun; Professor Trelawney is now teaching us palmistry, and she loses no time in informing Harry that he has the shortest life line she has ever seen.

To which I looked down into Hermione’s palm and predicted that she will live her life by the book chuckling at the pun that I had made. Hermione had scowled at me, but Professor Trelawney had gasped and awed and said that I truly seemed to have the gift, much to my amusement.

It is Defense Against the Dark Arts that Harry is keen to get to; after his conversation with Wood, he wants to get started on his anti-dementor lessons as soon as possible.

“Ah yes,” says Lupin, when Harry reminds him of his promise at the end of class. “Let me see . . . how about eight o’clock on Thursday evening? The History of Magic classroom should be large enough. . . . I’ll have to think carefully about how we’re going to do this. . . . We can’t bring a real dementor into the castle to practice on. . . .”

“Still looks ill, doesn’t he?” says Ron as we walk down the corridor, heading to dinner. “What d’you reckon’s the matter with him?”

There is a loud and impatient “tuh” from behind us. It is Hermione, who had been sitting at the feet of a suit of armor, repacking her bag, which is so full of books it won’t close.

“Merlin Mione I thought that there was a whole room dedicated to the housing of books. Not your rucksack.” I say.

“And what are you tutting at us for?” says Ron irritably.

“Nothing,” says Hermione in a lofty voice, heaving her bag back over her shoulder.

“Yes, you were,” says Ron. “I said I wonder what’s wrong with Lupin, and you —”

“Well, isn’t it obvious?” asks Hermione, with a look of maddening superiority. No quite possibly it’s not obvious for I don’t know what is wrong with Lupin. If he wanted us to know then we would know.

“If you don’t want to tell us, don’t,” snaps Ron.

“Fine,” says Hermione haughtily, and she marches off. Great she’s going to be lovely dealing with in the dormitory tonight.

“She doesn’t know,” says Ron, staring resentfully after Hermione. “She’s just trying to get us to talk to her again.”

With that remark I heave a sigh, and start on my way to dinner. When we get there, I plop down on the bench next to Fred Weasley. The twins raise an eyebrow at me in question, and their friend Lee looks at me with interest.

“Okay boys I’m tired of playing good. I think its high time that Hogwarts remembers that there are still notorious pranksters about.” I say lowly so no one can overhear me. The grins on the four of our faces are one of pure mischievous delight.

* * *

 

Ravenclaw played Slytherin a week after the start of term. Slytherin won, though narrowly. According to Wood, this is good news for Gryffindor, who will take second place if we beat Ravenclaw too. He therefore increases the number of team practices to five a week. This means that with Lupin’s anti-dementor classes, which in themselves are more draining than six Quidditch practices, Harry has just one night a week to do all his homework. Even so, he isn’t showing the strain nearly as much as Hermione, whose immense workload finally seems to be getting to her.

Every night, without fail, Hermione is to be seen in a corner of the common room, several tables spread with books, Arithmancy charts, rune dictionaries, diagrams of Muggles lifting heavy objects, and file upon file of extensive notes; she barely speaks to anybody and snaps when she is interrupted.

I’m worried for both my friends, and slightly guilty that I don’t have nearly that much problem with all my homework.

“How’s she doing it?” Ron mutters to Harry one evening as Harry sies finishing a nasty essay on Undetectable Poisons for Snape. Harry looks up, and I cock my eyebrow. Hermione is barely visible behind a tottering pile of books.

“Doing what?”

“Getting to all her classes!” Ron says. “I heard her talking to Professor Vector, that Arithmancy witch, this morning. They were going on about yesterday’s lesson, but Hermione can’t’ve been there, because she was with us in Care of Magical Creatures! And Ernie Macmillan told me she’s never missed a Muggle Studies class, but half of them are at the same time as Divination, and she’s never missed one of them either!”

“Well good gentlemen you’ve come to the right place!” I say lowering my voice with a proud smile. I pull out the journal from my rucksack, and flop on my old fashioned Sherlock Holmes cap that Hermione had gotten me as a gag once, and stick the pipe into my mouth, grinning as I blow bubbles from it.

Harry and Ron look at me amusedly. “I’ve been living and studying this creature for the past two and a half years. I know nearly all of her habits and this year there has been a vast and odd deviation.” I tell them. I open up my journal to the first page, which is lovingly titled ‘Hermione Sightings’.

I flip through the next few. “I have meticulously recorded all her comings and goings for the past few months, and all of her sudden disappearances and then just as equally sudden reappearances.” I tell them stroking my chin pretending that there’s a fake beard there for me to actually stroke.

“So what have you found?” Harry asks me. Ron leans forward and examines my charts and notes.

“My dear sirs I have found that our Hermione has a case of the disappearing act. I have no clue what so ever how she’s getting to all of her classes yet, but the running theories are that she can either apparate which is just ridiculous for so many reasons, or that Hermione can run at the speed of light.” I tell them frowning down at my studies.

Harry and Ron snicker at me. “I never did say that I was finished with my studies now did I?” I cry offended at their laughing.

“Come on Jamie its just that I’m sure there’s some logical reason that Hermione is getting to class.” Harry says turning back to the homework that he still has.

“Come back to us with this theory when Hermione sprouts wings Jame.” Ron snorts at me. I narrow my eyes at the two boys, and close my book, taking off my hat and blowing bubbles from my pipe into their faces startling them. Hah, revenge is sweet.

Before we can get back to work though Wood interrupts us. “Bad news, Harry. I’ve just been to see Professor McGonagall about the Firebolt. She — er — got a bit shirty with me. Told me I’d got my priorities wrong. Seemed to think I cared more about winning the Cup than I do about you staying alive. Just because I told her I didn’t care if it threw you off, as long as you caught the Snitch first.” Wood shakes his head in disbelief.

“Honestly, the way she was yelling at me . . . you’d think I’d said something terrible. . . . Then I asked her how much longer she was going to keep it. . . .” He screws up his face and imitates Professor McGonagall’s severe voice. “‘As long as necessary, Wood’ . . . I reckon it’s time you ordered a new broom, Harry. There’s an order form at the back of Which Broomstick . . . you could get a Nimbus Two Thousand and One, like Malfoy’s got.”

I catch the face that Harry makes. “I’m not buying anything Malfoy thinks is good,” says Harry flatly.

“Don’t blame you there mate.” Ron and I say together, and grin at each other.

* * *

 

January fades imperceptibly into February, with no change in the bitterly cold weather. The match against Ravenclaw is drawing nearer and nearer, but Harry still hasn’t ordered a new broom. He is now asking Professor McGonagall for news of the Firebolt after every Transfiguration lesson, Ron and I standing hopefully at his shoulder, Hermione rushing past with her face averted.

Hermione and I are on good ground still but with the amount of homework that she has to do she’s so stressed all the time that she ends up snapping at me, so I’ve learned to keep my distance, until she breaks down crying on my bed at night from all the class stress and the stress with Harry and Ron.

“No, Potter, you can’t have it back yet,” Professor McGonagall tells him the twelfth time this happens, before he’s even opened his mouth. “We’ve checked for most of the usual curses, but Professor Flitwick believes the broom might be carrying a Hurling Hex. I shall tell you once we’ve finished checking it. Now, please stop badgering me.”

All was going well in the planning department for our prank as well. I am keeping lookout outside the portrait that has the pear on it that leads you into the kitchens of Hogwarts. Fred, and George are adding the necessary changes to tonight’s dinner while inside. I came up with the idea, but even I can’t produce the magic quite needed to pull off this prank hence the guard duty.

“Jamie? What are you doing here?” Ariana Dumbledore’s curious voice questions me. I spin around and turn my gaze to her. She’s standing there along with her friends Susan Bones, and Hannah Abbot.

“Hey Ariana!” I cry plastering a smile to my face. She can’t know why I’m down here. “What brings you around here?” I ask her in hopes of stalling. Ariana narrows her eyes at me.

“I live here.” She says flatly gesturing to a stack of barrels a few feet away from me. I blush at the bumbling mistake that I’ve made.

“So what are you really doing here Jamie? You’re up to something I can tell. What is it?” Ariana asks me coming closer and crowding me near the stone wall.

“Coming to the kitchen for a bite to eat! I’m a growing girl you know! Wood’s been working us lie crazy in preparation for the upcoming Quidditch match. I’m starving all the time. It’s really quite inconvenient once you think about it.” I tell her putting on my most charming smile.

Ariana looks at me for a long time, before finally backing off with a sigh. “I’ll find out what you’re up to Pendragon because remember we’re friends now, and I know your tells.” She threatens in the nicest way possible. With that she spins around and goes back to her friends.

I close my eyes and sink back against the wall with a heavy sigh. That was too close for comfort. Since when does Ariana know me so well? I open my eyes again, and blink in shock. The three girls have disappeared. Okay today is so not my day.

The doorway appears from behind the tapestry, and Fred and George sneak out of the kitchen munching on some rolls. Fred tosses me one, and I catch it with one hand. “Did you get it done?” I ask them. Fred and George grin at me, and nod their heads.

I bite into my own role, and the three of us start out of the corridor whispering excitedly about how awesome dinner is going to be tonight.

* * *

 

Dinner rolls around and the Weasley twins and I wander into the Great Hall. We had to hide away for someone would have suspected that something was up if we had gone back to the common room since we couldn’t stop the snickers from coming. We split up, and I go and take my seat next to Hermione across from Harry and Ron.

When all the staff has entered the Great Hall along with the rest of the students dinner starts. The goblets fill with pumpkin juice and the food fills the serving plates. I start filling up my plate along with everyone else. I’m giddy as I eat my food still listening to all the conversations going on around me. I glance at Fred and George and see them looking down at their watches.

They look up at me, and give me a slight half nod. Okay show time. Suddenly the volume in the great hall changes, the pitches of the voices in the Great Hall go up considerably. “EEEEIIIIIIIIIIIIIII! MY VOICE! I SOUND LIKE A SPRITE!” A girl squeals in a high-pitched squeaky voice from the Ravenclaw table.

“ALBUS WHAT’S GOING ON HERE!” Professor McGonagall cries shrilly.

“Hey Hermione cat got your tongue?” I question in a squeaky voice. Hermione’s eyes widen and she emits one of the shrillest and highest squeals that I’ve ever heard.

“JAMIE! How am I going to be taken seriously if I sound like this?” Hermione cries panicked.

“HA HA! HERMIONE YOU SOUND LIKE A RODENT!!!!” Ron shouts from across the table. He clasps his hands over his mouth hearing the high pitch of his voice.

“HAHAHA! Don’t worry Ronniekins your voice sounds exactly the same!!!!” George sputters highly.

“Hippogriffs, toadstools, Fluffy, Cornelius Fudge… this is kind of cool all my words sound funny.” Harry determines listing off stuff.

“HOW ARE WE SUPPOSED TO CAST SPELLS LIKE THIS?” I turn and see Luka standing up from the Ravenclaw table with a shocked look on his face. I grin at the sight of his panic. Of course that would be what he and Hermione both are worrying about. Everyone in the Great Hall’s voice has turned into that of a squeaky toy.

“Ah Minerva its all in good fun.” Dumbledore tweets from the staff table.

“THIS IS OUTRAGEOUS! I DEMAND THAT WHOEVER DID THIS TRAVESTY BE EXPELLED FROM THIS SCHOOL!!!!” Snape shouts angrily in the cutest squeaky voice of all. By this time Fred, George, and I have practically had a laughing fit that sounds like some deranged squirrels.

I look at the Hufflepuff table and see Ariana laughing at the top of her lungs in this high tinkle, at something that one of her friends has squealed. Her eyes catch mine on her, and her brown eyes light up in recognition.

Dumbledore stands up from his seat at the Staff table and calls for silence. Eventually the noise dies down, and he clears his throat. “Well I must say that this is quite unexpected, but I do believe that this is will entertaining for a while. Have a good night ladies and gentlemen, and don’t let the sound of your own voices keep you up!” He calls in his high register.

I grin up at Dumbledore. This is why he’s been my favorite adult! Students start filing out of the great hall chattering away in their newly changed voices. None of them realize that this won’t wear off tomorrow but the next day after that. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I get up and start our way back to Gryffindor tower. I don’t get far though, for someone grabs me by the arm and steers me away to a nook in the corridor.

Ariana Dumbledore is grinning from ear to ear in front of me. “You guys did this! I’m sure of it. That’s why you were in our corridor this afternoon. You weren’t hungry you were enchanting something in the kitchens.” She exclaims quietly.

“Well… I did end up having a roll…” I say lamely in my own high pitched voice.

“I knew it Pendragon. Well this is great. No one will be able to concentrate in classes tomorrow. It is sure to be interesting!” She says. And with that Ariana is off again to her dorm.

I hurry to catch up with my friends. I don’t see Ron or Hermione but I do run into Harry in the halls. He’s reverently holding his Firebolt to him.

“McGonagall gave that back to you?” I squeak.

“Uh huh! All cleared, because there wasn’t anything there in the first place! See I was right!” Harry cheers highly. I giggle at the sound of his cheerful voice and he blushes.

“This is your fault you know.” Harry grumbles crossly. We come up to the portrait where there’s a distraught Neville in front of the portrait of Sir Cadogan.

“I wrote them down!” Neville is saying tearfully. “But I must’ve dropped them somewhere!”

“A likely tale!” roars Sir Cadogan. Then, spotting Harry and me: “Good even, my fine young yeomen! Come clap this loon in irons. He is trying to force entry to the chambers within!”

“Oh, shut up,” I tell him as we draw level with Neville.

“I’ve lost the passwords!” Neville told us miserably. “I made him tell me what passwords he was going to use this week, because he keeps changing them, and now I don’t know what I’ve done with them!”

“Oddsbodikins,” says Harry to Sir Cadogan, who looks extremely disappointed and reluctantly swings forward to let them into the common room muttering something about crazy sounding students with high voices. There is a sudden, excited murmur as every head turns and the next moment, Harry is surrounded by people exclaiming over his Firebolt.

It sounds like a whole bunch of birds chirping in here. “Where’d you get it, Harry?”

“Will you let me have a go?”

“Have you ridden it yet, Harry?”

“Ravenclaw’ll have no chance, they’re all on Cleansweep Sevens!”

“Can I just hold it, Harry?”

After ten minutes or so, during which the Firebolt is passed around and admired from every angle, the crowd disperses and Harry and I have a clear view of Hermione, the only person who hadn’t rushed over to us, bent over her work and carefully avoiding our eyes. Harry and Ron who joined us approach her table and at last, she looks up.

“I got it back,” says Harry, grinning at her and holding up the Firebolt.

“See, Hermione? There wasn’t anything wrong with it!” says Ron.

“Well — there might have been!” says Hermione. “I mean, at least you know now that it’s safe!”

“Yeah, I suppose so,” says Harry. “I’d better put it upstairs —”

“I’ll take it!” chirps Ron eagerly. “I’ve got to give Scabbers his rat tonic.” He takes the Firebolt and, holding it as if it is made of glass, carries it away up the boys’ staircase.

“Can I sit down, then?” Harry asks Hermione after I’ve already plopped down.

“I suppose so,” sighs Hermione highly, moving a great stack of parchment off a chair.

Harry and I look around at the cluttered table, at the long Arithmancy essay on which the ink is still glistening, at the even longer Muggle Studies essay (“Explain Why Muggles Need Electricity”), and at the rune translation Hermione is now poring over.

“How are you getting through all this stuff?” Harry asks her.

“Oh, well — you know — working hard,” says Hermione. Close-up, I see that she looks almost as tired as Lupin.

“Why don’t you just drop a couple of subjects?” I ask, watching her lifting books as she searched for her rune dictionary.

“I couldn’t do that!” says Hermione, looking scandalized.

“Arithmancy looks terrible,” squeaks Harry, picking up a very complicated-looking number chart.

“Oh no, it’s wonderful!” squeals Hermione earnestly. “It’s my favorite subject! It’s —”

But exactly what is wonderful about Arithmancy, Harry and I never find out. At that precise moment, a strangled high pitched yell echoes down the boys’ staircase. The whole common room falls silent, staring, petrified, at the entrance. Then comes hurried footsteps, growing louder and louder — and then Ron comes leaping into view, dragging with him a bedsheet.

“LOOK!” he bellows a squeak, striding over to Hermione’s table. “LOOK!” he yells, shaking the sheets in her face.

“Ron, what — ?”

“SCABBERS! LOOK! SCABBERS!”

Hermione is leaning away from Ron, looking utterly bewildered. Harry and I look down at the sheet Ron is holding. There is something red on it. Something that looks horribly like —

“BLOOD!” Ron squeals into the stunned silence. “HE’S GONE! AND YOU KNOW WHAT WAS ON THE FLOOR?”

“N-no,” says Hermione in a trembling voice.

Ron throws something down onto Hermione’s rune translation. Hermione, Harry, and I lean forward. Lying on top of the weird, spiky shapes are several long, ginger cat hairs.

“Oh Merlin.” I squeak throwing my head in my hands.


	11. Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

Chapter 11- Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw

 

It looks like the end of Ron and Hermione’s friendship. Each is so angry with the other that Harry and I can’t see how they’d ever make up.

Ron is enraged that Hermione has never taken Crookshanks’s attempts to eat Scabbers seriously, hasn’t bothered to keep a close enough watch on him, and is still trying to pretend that Crookshanks is innocent by suggesting that Ron look for Scabbers under all the boys’ beds. Hermione, meanwhile, maintains fiercely that Ron has no proof that Crookshanks has eaten Scabbers, that the ginger hairs might have been there since Christmas, and that Ron has been prejudiced against her cat ever since Crookshanks had landed on Ron’s head in the Magical Menagerie.

I was personally protesting that my migraine that had been building from listening to the two of them was going to be the death of me. I’ve started taking cover and hiding from them in the library, the LIBRARY of all places! Do you know what this is doing to me?

Personally, Harry is sure that Crookshanks has eaten Scabbers, and when he tries to point out to Hermione that the evidence all points that way, she loses her temper with Harry too.

“Okay, side with Ron, I knew you would!” she says shrilly. “First the Firebolt, now Scabbers, everything’s my fault, isn’t it! Just leave me alone, Harry, I’ve got a lot of work to do!”

Ron has taken the loss of his rat very hard indeed. “Come on, Ron, you were always saying how boring Scabbers was,” says Fred bracingly. “And he’s been off-color for ages, he was wasting away. It was probably better for him to snuff it quickly — one swallow — he probably didn’t feel a thing.”

“Fred!” cries Ginny indignantly.

“All he did was eat and sleep, Ron, you said it yourself,” says George.

“He bit Goyle for us once!” Ron says miserably. “Remember, Harry?”

“Yeah, that’s true,” says Harry.

“His finest hour,” says Fred, unable to keep a straight face. “Let the scar on Goyle’s finger stand as a lasting tribute to his memory. Oh, come on, Ron, get yourself down to Hogsmeade and buy a new rat, what’s the point of moaning?”

“He’s right Ron, Scabbers was old and he had a long good life.” I tell him. Ron glares at me.

“You’re saying that because you always agree with Hermione you never side with me!” Ron cries crossly. I glare at my friend.

“I’m not taking sides in this fight Ron for I think its stupid! Did the cat eat your rat? Possibly, cold someone else’s cat have? Again likely, so shut up about it!” I snap annoyed with the whole situation.

In a last-ditch attempt to cheer Ron up, Harry persuades him to come along to the Gryffindor team’s final practice before the Ravenclaw match, so that he can have a ride on the Firebolt after we’ve finished. This does seem to take Ron’s mind off Scabbers for a moment (“Great! Can I try and shoot a few goals on it?”) so we set off for the Quidditch field together.

Madam Hooch, who is still overseeing Gryffindor practices to keep an eye on Harry, is just as impressed with the Firebolt as everyone else has been. She takes it in her hands before takeoff and gives us the benefit of her professional opinion. Personally I just think that she wants to have a broom like this.

“Look at the balance on it! If the Nimbus series has a fault, it’s a slight list to the tail end — you often find they develop a drag after a few years. They’ve updated the handle too, a bit slimmer than the Cleansweeps, reminds me of the old Silver Arrows — a pity they’ve stopped making them. I learned to fly on one, and a very fine old broom it was too. . . .”

She continues in this vein for some time, until Wood says, “Er — Madam Hooch? Is it okay if Harry has the Firebolt back? We need to practice. . . .” I snicker before my gloved hand at the look on Oliver’s face and Madam Hooch’s.

“Oh — right — here you are, then, Potter,” says Madam Hooch. “I’ll sit over here with Weasley. . . .”

She and Ron leave the field to sit in the stadium, and the Gryffindor team gathers around Wood for his final instructions for tomorrow’s match.

“Harry, I’ve just found out who Ravenclaw is playing as Seeker. It’s Cho Chang. She’s a fourth year, and she’s pretty good. . . . I really hoped she wouldn’t be fit, she’s had some problems with injuries. . . .” Wood scowls his displeasure that Cho Chang has made a full recovery, then says, “On the other hand, she rides a Comet Two Sixty, which is going to look like a joke next to the Firebolt.” He gives Harry’s broom a look of fervent admiration, then said, “Okay, everyone, let’s go —”

Luka has mentioned Cho Chang before. She seems like a pretty cool person. I guess that that they are pretty good friends even though she is a year ahead of him. And at long last, Harry mounts his Firebolt, and kicks off from the ground. I follow behind him quickly on my Nimbus 2000.

The Firebolt turns with the lightest touch; it seems to obey Harry’s thoughts rather than his grip; it speeds across the field at such speed that the stadium turns into a green-and-gray blur; Harry turns it so sharply that Katie Bell screams, then he goes into a perfectly controlled dive, brushing the grassy field with his toes before rising thirty, forty, fifty feet into the air again —

“Way to be a show off boy wonder!” I shout as loudly as I can after my friend, but quickly turn back to the practice drills that Angelina, Katie, and I are supposed to be performing. I catch the quaffle in a roll, and make evasive maneuvers like I have a rival player on my tail, and dart to the goals.

My shot makes it in easily with no keeper at the moment. “Harry, I’m letting the Snitch out!” Wood calls.

Harry turns and races a Bludger toward the goalposts; he outstrips it easily, sees the Snitch dart out from behind Wood, and within ten seconds has caught it tightly in his hand.

The team cheers madly. Harry lets the Snitch go again, gives it a minute’s head start, then tears after it, weaving in and out of the others; he spots it lurking near Katie Bell’s knee, loops her easily, and catches it again. When Harry zooms past me he ruffles my hair, and he’s gone before I can complain about it. Boy is that show off asking for it when we’re back on the ground and I’m faster than him.

It is the best practice ever; the team, inspired by the presence of the Firebolt in our midst, performs our best moves faultlessly, and by the time we hit the ground again, Wood doesn’t have a single criticism to make, which, as George Weasley points out, is a first.

“I can’t see what’s going to stop us tomorrow!” says Wood. “Not unless — Harry, you’ve sorted out your dementor problem, haven’t you?”

“Yeah,” says Harry, but he doesn’t look positive.

“The dementors won’t turn up again, Oliver. Dumbledore’d go ballistic,” says Fred confidently. That would be true I know that for sure.

“Well, let’s hope not,” says Wood. “Anyway — good work, everyone. Let’s get back to the tower . . . turn in early —”

“I’m staying out for a bit; Ron wants a go on the Firebolt,” Harry tells Wood, and while the rest of the team heads off to the locker rooms, Harry strides over to Ron, who vaults the barrier to the stands and comes to meet us. Madam Hooch has fallen asleep in her seat.

“Here you go,” says Harry, handing Ron the Firebolt.

“Careful, I’m not coming to bail you out of the high rises if you get stuck up there.” I warm Ron, playfully slapping his arm, while leaning against my own faithful broomstick. Harry might have a flashy dream broom, but I have a history with mine, and until it becomes too old and not fast enough, then I’m not going to change it out.

Ron, an expression of ecstasy on his face, mounts the broom and zooms off into the gathering darkness while Harry and I walk around the edge of the field, watching him. Night has fallen before Madam Hooch awakes with a start, tells Harry, Ron, and me off for not waking her, and insists that we go back to the castle.

Harry shouldering the Firebolt, me with mine, and Ron walk out of the shadowy stadium, discussing the Firebolt’s superbly smooth action, its phenomenal acceleration, and its pinpoint turning. We are halfway towards the castle when Harry, glancing to his left, sees something that startles him — a pair of eyes, gleaming out of the darkness.

Harry stops dead, his heart banging against his ribs.

“What’s the matter?” I ask him. Harry points.

Ron pulls out his wand and mutters, “Lumos!”

A beam of light falls across the grass, hits the bottom of a tree, and illuminates its branches; there, crouching among the budding leaves, is Crookshanks.

“Get out of here!” Ron roars, and he stoops down and seizes a stone lying on the grass, but before he can do anything else, Crookshanks has vanished with one swish of his long ginger tail.

“See?” Ron says furiously, chucking the stone down again. “She’s still letting him wander about wherever he wants — probably washing down Scabbers with a couple of birds now. . . .”

“Ron…” I groan getting ready to hit Ron with my broom which will only end up hurting us both in the end. Plus I’m starting to value my broom over him with all his endless anger and whining.

Harry doesn’t say anything. I heave a sigh and try to control my frustration. We finally make it to the entrance hall and I say goodbye to the boys so that I can go take a shower and find Hermione to check up on her. She’s not that much better than Ron these days, but no one can say that I’m not trying. 

* * *

 

The next morning I’m down at breakfast with the rest of the team before Harry. I’m eating my breakfast enjoying some banter with Luka. He’s convinced that despite the fact that Harry has a Firebolt and I’m playing chaser that Ravenclaw is still going to win. I tell him that it’s all in his head and that he’s finally losing his mind to all those books that his head has been stuck in.

I saw Ariana at the Hufflepuff table earlier and she had my uniform number painted on her cheek in red paint with a small lion on it. On her other one is the blue Ravenclaw wizard. I guess that the other one was to please Luka since his house is playing against mine today. I had beamed when I saw the paint.

Suddenly there is a commotion at the entranceway, and I look up to see Harry come into the dining hall with Ron, and the rest of the boys in his dorm flanking him looking like a royal guard. I roll my eyes at the dramatics that they’re putting on. And they call us girls dramatic?

I’m pleased that the Slytherin team looks thunderstruck though. At least something good is coming out of the inflation of Harry’s ego. “Did you see his face?” says Ron gleefully, looking back at Malfoy. “He can’t believe it! This is brilliant!”

Wood, too, is basking in the reflected glory of the Firebolt.

“Put it here, Harry,” he says, laying the broom in the middle of the table (I grab my organge juice before its knocked over) and carefully turns it so that its name faces upward. People from the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables are soon coming over to look. Cedric Diggory comes over to congratulate Harry on having acquired such a superb replacement for his Nimbus, and Percy’s Ravenclaw girlfriend, Penelope Clearwater, asks if she could actually hold the Firebolt.

“Now, now, Penny, no sabotage!” says Percy heartily as she examines the Firebolt closely. “Penelope and I have got a bet on,” he tells the team. “Ten Galleons on the outcome of the match!”

Penelope puts the Firebolt down again, thanks Harry, and goes back to her table.  “Harry — make sure you win,” says Percy, in an urgent whisper. “I haven’t got ten Galleons. Yes, I’m coming, Penny!” And he bustles off to join her in a piece of toast.

I feel someone come up behind me and look up to see Ariana standing behind me looking at the broom. “Nice broom Harry.” Ariana says examining it closely. Harry smiles and thanks her.

“Though there’s only so much that a broom can do. What really matters is the skill of the player.” Ariana tells me softly so that no one else can hear. I turn around in my seat to face her.

“I’m not jealous that Harry has a better broom Ariana. He needs a faster broom to catch the snitch. I have some tricks up my sleeve so don’t worry about it.” I tell her with a grin gesturing to my Quidditch uniform sleeve. Ariana smiles at me and shakes her head chuckling.

“I don’t doubt that Jame. I just thought I’d remind you anyway. Good luck today, though you don’t need it.” She tells me gesturing to her cheek with a light blush. With that she returns to the Hufflepuff table. I smile after her before turning back my attention to my breakfast.

“Sure you can manage that broom, Potter?” says a cold, drawling voice. Draco Malfoy has arrived for a closer look, Crabbe and Goyle right behind him.

“Yeah, reckon so,” says Harry casually. I seriously can’t just have one meal in peace can I?

“Got plenty of special features, hasn’t it?” says Malfoy, eyes glittering maliciously. “Shame it doesn’t come with a parachute — in case you get too near a dementor.”

“Shame your broom doesn’t actually give you skill Malfoy. If so then you’d actually become an acceptable player but maybe even that’s a stretch.” I shoot back at him.

“No one was asking for your opinion you traitorous filth.” Malfoy snaps at me. I clench my jaw as Harry, Ron, Fred, and George jump up to defend me.

“How dare you?” Katie Bell growls. Angelina Johnson pulls out her wand from her robes.

“Guys its fine. Malfoy is just lashing out because he knows that I’m right. Besides my family is none of his business or anyone else’s.” I tell him staring him hard in the eye. Reluctantly the boys get back into their seats.

My fellow Chasers are still glaring at him hatefully. Malfoy’s pale eyes narrow, and he stalks away. We watch him rejoin the rest of the Slytherin team, who put their heads together, no doubt asking Malfoy whether Harry’s broom really is a Firebolt.

At a quarter to eleven, the Gryffindor team sets off for the locker rooms. The weather can’t have been more different from our match against Hufflepuff. It is a clear, cool day with a very light breeze; there will be no visibility problems this time, and though nervous I’m starting to feel the excitement only a Quidditch match can bring.

We can hear the rest of the school moving into the stadium beyond. “You know what we’ve got to do,” says Wood as we prepare to leave the locker rooms. “If we lose this match, we’re out of the running. Just — just fly like you did in practice yesterday, and we’ll be okay!”

We walk out onto the field to tumultuous applause. The Ravenclaw team, dressed in blue, are already standing in the middle of the field. Their Seeker, Cho Chang, is the only girl on their team. She is shorter than Harry by about a head, and I can’t help noticing, nervous as he is, that she is extremely pretty. She smiles at Harry as the teams facing each other behind their captains, I groan beside him.

NO NOT HARRY TOO! WHAT IS GOING ON WITH THE WORLD! “Wood, Davies, shake hands,” Madam Hooch says briskly, and Wood shakes hands with the Ravenclaw Captain.

“Mount your brooms . . . on my whistle . . . three — two — one —” I push off from the ground and start zooming down the field to the Ravenclaw goals since Angelina has won the quaffle. She dodges behind a few of the Ravenclaw chasers but is forced to pass it to Katie. Katie does an impressing turn about, and fires the quaffle to me. I catch it, and instantly perform a roll to throw off a beater.

Lee Jordan is commentating this game again, and a small smile tugs onto my face. “They’re off, and the big excitement this match is the Firebolt that Harry Potter is flying for Gryffindor. According to Which Broomstick, the Firebolt’s going to be the broom of choice for the national teams at this year’s World Championship —”

“Jordan, would you mind telling us what’s going on in the match?” interrupts Professor McGonagall’s voice.

“Right you are, Professor — just giving a bit of background information — the Firebolt, incidentally, has a built-in auto-brake and —”

I fire the quaffle at the top hoop, and the keeper rises to catch it, but he misses, and I score. The crowd roars into applause and I zip right back onto defense before Angelina gets the quaffle again and we return for another goal scored by her.

“Jordan!”

“Okay, okay, Gryffindor in possession, Katie Bell of Gryffindor heading for goal . . .”

I grin at the success that we’re having. I dodge around a bludger that was hit at me. “Sorry Jame!” George calls out flying past me in chase of the wild ball.

“Gryffindor leads by eighty points to zero, and look at that Firebolt go! Potter’s really putting it through its paces now, see it turn — Chang’s Comet is just no match for it, the Firebolt’s precision-balance is really noticeable in these long —” Jordan says.

“JORDAN! ARE YOU BEING PAID TO ADVERTISE FIREBOLTS? GET ON WITH THE COMMENTARY!” McGonagall roars.

Ravenclaw is pulling back; they have now scored three goals, which puts Gryffindor only fifty points ahead — if Cho got the Snitch before Harry, Ravenclaw would win. I push myself harder to get possession of the quaffle and work with my teammates.

Suddenly I hear, “HARRY, THIS IS NO TIME TO BE A GENTLEMAN!” Wood roars as Harry swerves to avoid a collision. “KNOCK HER OFF HER BROOM IF YOU HAVE TO!” I chuckle to myself thinking that Harry will never do that especially since he likes her.

Suddenly in front of me are three tall, black hooded dementors. My heart skips a beat in fear. I’m not ready for that. I swerve at the last second, but my foot rams into one of their heads, and I hear a loud yelp of pain and a curse. Wait dementors don’t curse.

“Wait…” I start but it’s too late. Harry has shouted a spell and a huge silver white shape comes out of his wand and hits the three not so fearsome dementors. Thankfully Harry catches the snitch as well. Oh Merlin we are still in this thing!

Madam Hooch’s whistle sounds. Harry turns around in midair and sees six scarlet blurs bearing down on him; next moment, the whole team is hugging him so hard he is nearly pulled off his broom. Down below I can hear the roars of the Gryffindors in the crowd.

“That’s my boy!” Wood keeps yelling. Angelina, Katie have both kissed Harry; Fred has him in a grip so tight Harry feels as though his head will come off. In complete disarray, the team manages to make its way back to the ground. I get off my broom and look up to see a gaggle of Gryffindor supporters sprinting onto the field, Ron in the lead. Before we know it, we have been engulfed by the cheering crowd.

“Yes!” Ron yells, yanking Harry’s arm into the air. “Yes! Yes!”

“Well done, Harry!” says Percy, looking delighted. “Ten Galleons to me! Must find Penelope, excuse me —”

“Good for you, Harry!” roars Seamus Finnigan.

“Ruddy brilliant!” booms Hagrid over the heads of the milling Gryffindors. I grin when I turn around and see Ariana standing there a yellow figure in a sea of grin, and she pulls me into her arms for a victorious hug.

“You played great Jamie! I knew you’d win.” She tells me with a big grin. My brother appears next to her and gives me a grudging grin.

“Well played Pendragon. In this case the better team won. Don’t think that we won’t come back next year though! I’ll see you back up at the castle.” Luka tells me squeezing me into a hug.

“Oh my!” Ariana says pointing at something behind me. I turn around to look at what has her attention. I stare not sure what to think. Lying in a crumpled heap on the ground are Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Marcus Flint, the Slytherin team Captain, all struggling to remove themselves from long, black, hooded robes.

It looks as though Malfoy has been standing on Goyle’s shoulders. Standing over them, with an expression of the utmost fury on her face, is Professor McGonagall.

“An unworthy trick!” she is shouting. “A low and cowardly attempt to sabotage the Gryffindor Seeker! Detention for all of you, and fifty points from Slytherin! I shall be speaking to Professor Dumbledore about this, make no mistake! Ah, here he comes now!”

“I knew they were stupid but I didn’t think they were this stupid.” I tell Ariana dumbfounded. I noticed that Malfoy was rubbing his head, and I couldn’t help but grin knowing that I had kicked him accidentally. The git deserves that for scaring me.

If anything could have set the seal on Gryffindor’s victory, it is this. Ron, who has fought his way through to Harry’s side, doubles up with laughter as we watch Malfoy fighting to extricate himself from the robe, Goyle’s head still stuck inside it.

“Come on, Harry, Jamie!” says George, fighting his way over. “Party! Gryffindor common room, now!”

“Right,” I say, and feeling happier than I have in ages, Ariana bids me goodbye, and the rest of the team leads the way, still in their scarlet robes, out of the stadium and back up to the castle.

* * *

 

It feels as though we have already won the Quidditch Cup; the party goes on all day and well into the night. Fred and George Weasley disappear for a couple of hours and return with armfuls of bottles of butterbeer, pumpkin fizz, and several bags full of Honeydukes sweets.

“How did you do that?” squeals Angelina Johnson as George starts throwing Peppermint Toads into the crowd.

“With a little help from Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs,” Fred mutters in my ear. I grin at him. Of course they went to Hogsmeade.

Only one person isn’t joining in the festivities. Hermione, incredibly, is sitting in a corner, attempting to read an enormous book entitled Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles. I break away from the table where Fred and George have started juggling butterbeer bottles and go over to her.

“Did you even come to the match?” I ask her.

“Of course I did,” says Hermione in a strangely high-pitched voice, not looking up. “And I’m very glad we won, and I think you did really well, but I need to read this by Monday.” My eyes widen at hearing that number.

“Come on, Hermione, come and have some food,” I say, looking over at Ron and wondering whether he is in a good enough mood to bury the hatchet.

“I can’t, Jamie. I’ve still got four hundred and twenty-two pages to read!” says Hermione, now sounding slightly hysterical. “Anyway . . .” She glances over at Ron too. “He doesn’t want me to join in.”

“What about me Hermione. I want you to join in, and I actually played in the match and helped the team win. He just sat in the stands.” I say slightly whining to get my best friend to join us.

There was no arguing with the fact that he’s upset with her though, as Ron chooses this moment to say loudly, “If Scabbers hadn’t just been eaten, he could have had some of those Fudge Flies. He used to really like them —”

Hermione bursts into tears. Before I can say or do anything, she tucks the enormous book under her arm, and, still sobbing, runs toward the staircase to the girls’ dormitories and out of sight. I turn on Ron, and a wide eyes Harry furious. “You gigantic hippogriff’s arse! Just let the stupid rat go! You are becoming a gigantic git and I don’t think that I can stand being friends with you if this keeps going on, so GROW UP Ron!” I shout at him gathering the attention of everyone.

The party stops and everyone looks at us. “No,” says Ron flatly. “If she just acted like she was sorry — but she’ll never admit she’s wrong, Hermione. She’s still acting like Scabbers has gone on vacation or something.”

“Then you’re stupidity is going to lose you two friends.” I tell him flatly. With that I spin around on my heel, and race up the stairs to our dorm. I throw open the door to our room, and follow the sounds of Hermione’s sobs to her bed. I lie down next to her and rub her back soothingly until she is ready to talk to me.

Boys… they always know the perfect way to end a great day.

* * *

 

That night I’m woken up from a good dream of locking Ron and Hermione in a closet together by the sounds of multiple yells coming all the way from the boys dormitory. Hermione is still sound asleep from crying herself to sleep. I get out of bed and slip my slippers onto my feet and start down the stairs to the common room, and Katie and Angelina shortly join me.

“Excellent, are we carrying on?” says Fred Weasley brightly. Boys are in the common room as well looking just as sleep ragged.

“Everyone back upstairs!” says Percy, hurrying into the common room and pinning his Head Boy badge to his pajamas as he speaks.

“Perce — Sirius Black!” says Ron faintly. “In our dormitory! With a knife! Woke me up!”

The common room goes very still. My cheeks pale and my hands start shaking. He’s back? Angelina puts her hand on my arm comfortingly, and pulls me into her side to stop the panic attack that I feel coming. I’m thankful to her.

“Nonsense!” says Percy, looking startled. “You had too much to eat, Ron — had a nightmare —”

“I’m telling you —”

“Now, really, enough’s enough!” Professor McGonagall is here. She slams the portrait behind her as she enters the common room and stares furiously around.

“I am delighted that Gryffindor won the match, but this is getting ridiculous! Percy, I expected better of you!”

“I certainly didn’t authorize this, Professor!” says Percy, puffing himself up indignantly. “I was just telling them all to get back to bed! My brother Ron here had a nightmare —”

“IT WASN’T A NIGHTMARE!” Ron yells. “PROFESSOR, I WOKE UP, AND SIRIUS BLACK WAS STANDING OVER ME, HOLDING A KNIFE!”

Professor McGonagall stares at him. “Don’t be ridiculous, Weasley, how could he possibly have gotten through the portrait hole?”

“Ask him!” says Ron, pointing a shaking finger at the back of Sir Cadogan’s picture. “Ask him if he saw —”

Glaring suspiciously at Ron, Professor McGonagall pushes the portrait back open and goes outside. The whole common room listens with bated breath. I start shaking more. “Sir Cadogan, did you just let a man enter Gryffindor Tower?”

“Certainly, good lady!” cries Sir Cadogan. There is a stunned silence, both inside and outside the common room.

“You — you did?” says Professor McGonagall. “But — but the password!”

“He had ’em!” says Sir Cadogan proudly. “Had the whole week’s, my lady! Read ’em off a little piece of paper!” I start shaking like a leaf in the wind now. Angelina leads me over to a chair and pushes me into it softly. She kneels down next to me worriedly, and holds my hand.

“Its going to be okay Jamie. You’ll see.” Angelina says trying to reassure me but not sounding so sure herself.

Professor McGonagall pulls herself back through the portrait hole to face the stunned crowd. She is white as chalk. That’s how I’m sure that I look, but I’m too busy trying to keep from freaking out.

“Which person,” she says, her voice shaking, “which abysmally foolish person wrote down this week’s passwords and left them lying around?”

There is utter silence, broken by the smallest of terrified squeaks. Neville Longbottom, trembling from head to fluffy-slippered toes, raises his hand slowly into the air.

I still and stare blankly into the distance now fully trapped by the fear that I’ve been trying to fight off. If he can get into the school and into the tower then Harry’s not safe. We’re all not safe.

“Professor, I think that Jamie needs to go to the hospital wing.” Angelina calls out worriedly to Professor McGonagall. What’s the point of that? Sirius Black now has an all access pass to Harry and our lives.


	12. Happy While it Lasts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

Chapter 12- Happy While It Lasts

 

So I think that it’s safe to say that I didn’t sleep for the rest of that night. Professor McGonagall had taken me to the hospital wing yet again to be cared for by Madam Pomfrey. The nurse didn’t seem to mind in the least though she only shook her head a mutter, “Poor girl you’ve been through the ringer recently.”

I was given calming draughts but even that wasn’t enough to help me off to sleep that night. I also I learn the following morning that Black has escaped again which doesn’t bode well for my sanity at the moment.

I was cleared to go back to class for class that morning with the warning to take it easy and to let my nerves settle down. Of course no one told that to Malfoy who had jumped out in front of me from around a corner, and I was set right back on edge again.

Throughout the day, everywhere we go we see signs of tighter security; Professor Flitwick can be seen teaching the front doors to recognize a large picture of Sirius Black; Filch is suddenly bustling up and down the corridors, boarding up everything from tiny cracks in the walls to mouse holes. Sir Cadogan has been fired. His portrait has been taken back to its lonely landing on the seventh floor, and the Fat Lady is back. She has been expertly restored, but is still extremely nervous, and has agreed to return to her job only on condition that she is given extra protection. A bunch of surly security trolls have been hired to guard her. They pace the corridor in a menacing group, talking in grunts and comparing the size of their clubs.

I can’t help noticing that the statue of the one-eyed witch on the third floor remains unguarded and unblocked. It seems that Fred and George have been right in thinking that they — and now Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I — are the only ones who know about the hidden passageway within it.

“D’you reckon we should tell someone?” Harry asks Ron.

“We know he’s not coming in through Honeydukes,” says Ron dismissively.  “We’d’ve heard if the shop had been broken into.”

Harry is glad Ron took this view. If the one-eyed witch was boarded up too, he will never be able to go into Hogsmeade again. Ron and I have been going on the premise of sitting and standing near each other but not actually talking to one another. It’s because both of us need to be by Harry and neither one of us will budge.

Hermione won’t come within ten feet of Ron now. Ron has become an instant celebrity. For the first time in his life, people are paying more attention to him than to Harry, and it is clear that Ron is rather enjoying the experience. Though still severely shaken by the night’s events, he is happy to tell anyone who asks what had happened, with a wealth of detail.

“. . . I was asleep, and I heard this ripping noise, and I thought it was in my dream, you know? But then there was this draft . . . I woke up and one side of the hangings on my bed had been pulled down. . . . I rolled over . . . and I saw him standing over me . . . like a skeleton, with loads of filthy hair . . . holding this great long knife, must’ve been twelve inches . . . and he looked at me, and I looked at him, and then I yelled, and he scampered.”

I of course think that the prat is over doing it but it’s not my call to make. At lunch that day Luka had raced up to me and engulfed me in another hug swearing to any being listening that he wouldn’t let that mad man touch me. I clung to my brother not bothering to admit that he would most likely be dead if he had even attempted such a thing.

After he had let go Ariana had come up to me while biting her lower lip. “Are you okay Jamie?” She asks me seriously starting me in the eye to judge whether I’m lying to her or not. So I let out a shaky breath and decide to tell her the truth.

“Not really… it just all came back you know.” I say softly trailing off at the end of my sentence. Ariana nods her head slowly and reaches out to squeeze my hand softly.

“Well since we’re officially friends now you can definitely come to me anytime that you need me. I’m a Hufflepuff you know, we’re very protective of our friends.” She tells me with a smile. Its one of the dorkiest things that I’ve ever heard her say and I can’t help but giggle at her, and that makes her smile widen even more.

“I’ll catch you later okay?” She tells me. I nod my head confident that I can make it for at least a whole day without having another mental breakdown. Ron goes back to questioning Harry about the whole Sirius Black event again.

“Why, though?” Ron adds to Harry as the group of second-year girls who have been listening to his chilling tale departs. “Why did he run?”

I’m pretty sure that’s what we’ve all been wondering. “He must’ve known he’d have a job getting back out of the castle once you’d yelled and woken people up,” says Harry thoughtfully. “He’d’ve had to kill the whole House to get back through the portrait hole . . . then he would’ve met the teachers. . . .”

Neville is in total disgrace. Professor McGonagall is so furious with him she has banned him from all future Hogsmeade visits, given him a detention, and forbidden anyone to give him the password into the tower. Poor Neville is forced to wait outside the common room every night for somebody to let him in, while the security trolls leer unpleasantly at him. None of these punishments, however, come close to matching the one his grandmother has in store for him. Two days after Black’s break-in, she sends Neville the very worst thing a Hogwarts student can receive over breakfast — a Howler.

I still shiver from Ron’s last year. Mrs. Weasley is not someone you mess with.

The school owls swoop into the Great Hall carrying the mail as usual, and Neville chokes as a huge barn owl lands in front of him, a scarlet envelope clutched in its beak. Harry, Ron, and I who are sitting opposite him, recognize the letter as a Howler at once.

“Run for it, Neville,” Ron advises.

Neville doesn’t need telling twice. He seizes the envelope, and holding it before him like a bomb, sprints out of the hall, while the Slytherin table explodes with laughter at the sight of him. We hear the Howler go off in the entrance hall — Neville’s grandmother’s voice, magically magnified to a hundred times its usual volume, shrieking about how he has brought shame on the whole family.

I feel horrible for him, but it was his mistake that brought Sirius Black into our tower and triggered another panic attack so I don’t feel nearly as bad as I could for him. Harry is too busy feeling sorry for Neville to notice immediately that he has a letter too. Hedwig gets his attention by nipping him sharply on the wrist.

“Ouch! Oh — thanks, Hedwig.” Harry tears open the envelope while Hedwig helps herself to some of Neville’s cornflakes. The note inside said: Dear Harry, Ron and Jamie,

How about having tea with me this afternoon ’round six?

I’ll come and collect you from the castle.

WAIT FOR ME IN THE ENTRANCE HALL; YOU’RE NOT ALLOWED OUT ON YOUR OWN.

Cheers,

Hagrid

“He probably wants to hear all about Black!” says Ron. I groan shoving my head into my hands.

“Not everything is about you and your terrified heroics Ron!” I cry. Ron glares at me from the other side of Harry.

“Yeah well you looked like some courageous hero yourself in the common room there and when you first came around Black! You nearly fainted both times!” Ron snaps back at me. I wince and pale feeling the horror of the moment wash back over me.

“Ron that’s enough!” Harry says slamming both his palms down on the table hard enough to make the silverware rattle and me jump. Harry grabs my arm reassuringly, and gives me a stern look as well expect mine is loads less cross than Ron’s.

“I don’t want to hear it from you two anymore. If you have nothing nice to say then don’t say anything nice at all.” Harry says with a note of finality. I swallow hard and nod my head at Harry feeling bad for upsetting him. I know what it’s like to be in the middle of warring friends and now his friends are having a three-way war with different targets.

So at six o’clock this afternoon, Harry, Ron, and I leave Gryffindor Tower, pass the security trolls at a run, and head down to the entrance hall. Hagrid is already waiting for us.

“All right, Hagrid!” says Ron. “S’pose you want to hear about Saturday night, do you?”

“I’ve already heard all abou’ it,” says Hagrid, opening the front doors and leading us outside.

“Oh,” says Ron, looking slightly put out. I was right. I stick close to Harry on the walk outside of the castle. Its still too soon after my last episode to feel comfortable with walking around outside where Black could be.

The first thing we see on entering Hagrid’s cabin is Buckbeak, who is stretched out on top of Hagrid’s patchwork quilt, his enormous wings folded tight to his body, enjoying a large plate of dead ferrets. Averting my eyes from this unpleasant sight, I see a gigantic, hairy brown suit and a very horrible yellow-and-orange tie hanging from the top of Hagrid’s wardrobe door.

“What are they for, Hagrid?” says Harry.

“Buckbeak’s case against the Committee fer the Disposal o’ Dangerous Creatures,” says Hagrid. “This Friday. Him an’ me’ll be goin’ down ter London together. I’ve booked two beds on the Knight Bus. . . .”

I grimace feeling bad that I hadn’t been able to help with as much as the research as I would have liked. I attempted whenever Hermione seemed to be in the mood but past that not really. “Hagrid poured them tea and offered them a plate of Bath buns, but they knew better than to accept; they had had too much experience with Hagrid’s cooking.

“I got somethin’ ter discuss with you two,” says Hagrid, sitting himself between Harry and Ron and looking uncharacteristically serious. I’m guessing that he’s directing this at them.

“What?” says Harry. I look uncomfortably in my tea, I feel like I’m intruding on a private conversation.

“Hermione,” says Hagrid. Oh no has something happened to her?

“Hagrid is she okay?” I jump in interrupting their conversation. Hagrid turns his eyes to me which turn soft and kind again upon taking me in.

“She’s okay at ‘ter moment Jamie.” He tells me. I heave a sigh of relief, I don’t think that I could handle if something bad happened to Hermione as well at the moment.

“What about her?” says Ron.

“She’s in a righ’ state, that’s what. She’s bin comin’ down ter visit me a lot since Chris’mas. Bin feelin’ lonely. Firs’ yeh weren’ talking to her because o’ the Firebolt, now yer not talkin’ to her because her cat —”

“— ate Scabbers!” Ron interjects angrily. I feel even worse knowing that I wasn’t doing a good enough job making her feel better.

“Because her cat acted like all cats do,” Hagrid continues doggedly. “She’s cried a fair few times, yeh know. Goin’ through a rough time at the moment. Bitten off more’n she can chew, if yeh ask me, all the work she’s tryin’ ter do. Still found time ter help me with Buckbeak’s case, mind. . . . She’s found some really good stuff fer me . . . reckon he’ll stand a good chance now. . . .”

“Hagrid, we should’ve helped as well — sorry —” Harry begins awkwardly. I can feel my silent tears rolling down my face. I’m a horrible friend. I’ve just been too caught up in myself.

“I’m not blamin’ yeh!” says Hagrid, waving Harry’s apology aside. “Gawd knows yeh’ve had enough ter be gettin’ on with. I’ve seen yeh practicin’ Quidditch ev’ry hour o’ the day an’ night — but I gotta tell yeh, I thought you two’d value yer friend more’n broomsticks or rats. Tha’s all.”

Harry and Ron exchange uncomfortable looks. “Really upset, she was, when Black nearly stabbed yeh, Ron. She’s got her heart in the right place, Hermione has, an’ you two not talkin’ to her —”

“If she’d just get rid of that cat, I’d speak to her again!” Ron says angrily. “But she’s still sticking up for it! It’s a maniac, and she won’t hear a word against it!”

“Ah, well, people can be a bit stupid abou’ their pets,” says Hagrid wisely. Behind him, Buckbeak spits a few ferret bones onto Hagrid’s pillow. Oh Merlin why won’t he just shut up about he stupid cat and the rat?

That when the three of them seem to notice that I’m crying. “I’m sorry Hagrid I’ve tried so hard to be there for her— b-but it’s just so hard!” I cry between ragged breaths. The half giant gets up and comes over me, and takes me into his arms surprisingly gently so as not to squish me.

“’Don worry Jamie. Hermione ain’t mad at you. You’ve ‘een doing your best.” He tells me softly allowing me to cry into his shirt. I really don’t like what these panic attacks do to me. I’ve never really been the type of person to cry in front of other until now.

We spend the rest of our visit discussing Gryffindor’s improved chances for the Quidditch Cup. At nine o’clock, Hagrid walks us back up to the castle.

A large group of people are bunched around the bulletin board when we return to the common room.

“Hogsmeade, next weekend!” says Ron, craning over the heads to read the new notice. “What d’you reckon?” he adds quietly to Harry as we go to sit down.

“Well, Filch hasn’t done anything about the passage into Honeydukes. . . .” Harry says, even more quietly.

“Harry!” says a voice in his right ear. Harry starts and looks around at Hermione, who is sitting at the table right behind us and clearing a space in the wall of books that have been hiding her.

“Harry, if you go into Hogsmeade again . . . I’ll tell Professor McGonagall about that map!” says Hermione.

“Can you hear someone talking, Harry?” growls Ron, not looking at Hermione.

“Ron, how can you let him go with you? After what Sirius Black nearly did to you! I mean it, I’ll tell —”

“So now you’re trying to get Harry expelled!” says Ron furiously. “Haven’t you done enough damage this year?”

Hermione opens her mouth to respond, but with a soft hiss, Crookshanks leaps onto her lap. Hermione takes one frightened look at the expression on Ron’s face, gathers up Crookshanks, and hurries away toward the girls’ dormitories.

“I seriously can’t believe you two. I would have thought that after almost losing me over something petty you two would not make the same mistake by losing Hermione as well. Maybe I was wrong back in first year. Maybe you two aren’t the kind of people that I though you were. The Harry and Ron I knew wouldn’t be spiteful to Hermione or me just because we do things you don’t like. It’s time to grow up boys and this time I’m dead serious, or be prepared to face the consequences.” I tell them.

With that I turn and go up into my dormitory as well.

* * *

Saturday morning comes bright and clear, and I can tell that Harry and Ron are going to be going to Hogsmeade together today. Honestly, I’m not going to bother trying to stop them. If they’re not going to listen to reason and be smart about all this, then who am I to care?

Hermione keeps shooting the two of them guarded and searching looks as if she can just tell by looking at them that they are actually going to be at Hogsmeade today. When Harry and Ron leave the table, Hermione does so as well in a huff. I sit there in my seat and place my head in my hands while letting out a long suffering sigh.

When did my relationship with my friends become like this? I honestly didn’t see it coming. Is this what happens when friends get older, they drift apart? I don’t want that to happen with the first real friends that I’ve ever had. “Hey Pendragon, you all right?” A soft voice asks me, and I peek up form my hands to look at Ariana Dumbledore leaning on the table next to me.

“Yeah just dandy, I’ll be fine in a few minutes.” I tell her not bothering to turn my full attention to her. Ariana heaves a sigh and grabs me by the arm, hauling me out of my seat at the table.

“Ariana…” I protest but silence once she shoots me one of her ‘open your mouth and die Pendragon’ looks.

“You’re coming with Luka and I to Hogsmeade today and that’s final. I don’t want to hear any excuses Jamie. You need a day out!” She exclaims guiding me over to the Ravenclaw table where Luka is finishing up his breakfast. When my brother spots me his face brightens.

“Hey Jamie? What are you up to today?” He questions me standing up to join us in our exit of the Great Hall.

“Jamie is joining us in our trip to Hogsmeade today Luka. She could use a little fun and relaxation for once.” Ariana tells him firmly. He flicks his gaze to me and I give him a helpless look in response.

“Yeah you could definitely use with some relaxation Jame. You’re always tense nowadays.” Luka concurs, and we head out the front doors after having our name checked off the list.

“This is great! Just like old times when you two came over to hang out when Kingsley was busy!” Ariana exclaims looping her arms through Luka’s and mine, so that she’s sandwiched in between the two of us. Now that I think about it that’s how she’s always been with us.

I can’t remember a day when she hasn’t been around in practically my entire life. We make our way down the path with all the other excited kids. Being cooped up in a castle all the time isn’t good for our health. By the time that we make it down to Hogsmeade we’re laughing and our cheeks are tinged red with the exertion.

“You haven’t been here before right? We have to show you all the shops!” Luka cries, grabbing me by the hand and running off towards a shop. Ariana follows behind us laughing at the young child like exuberance that we’re exhibiting.

After dragging me to the curio, dress, and book shops, my eyes land on a sight that is almost too beautiful for words. The sign on the window says Zonko’s joke shop. “We have to go in there!” I cry hurrying forward to the door, but I’m tackled to the ground by Luka.

“No! If I let you go in there then I’m guaranteeing that I end up with at least one of those pranks in my bed when we get back home!” He complains attempting to pin me to the ground.

I knee my brother in the gut, and he rolls over onto the ground with an oomph. Ariana is shaking her head at the two of us while other students are staring and my brother and me. “You might as well let her go Luka. Jamie will find her way in there eventually. I jump up and grin wildly at her.

“You’re the best Ariana!” I cry squeezing her in a quick hug, before rushing into the joke shop with glee. The other two follow me much more controllably.

There are jokes and tricks to fulfill even Fred’s and George’s wildest dreams; I don’t even know where to begin. An hour later we leave Zonko’s with me money bag considerably lighter than it had been on entering, but my pockets bulge with Dungbombs, Hiccup Sweets, Frog Spawn Soap, and a Nose-Biting Teacup.

As we start back up the path to the castle, I can’t help but slip a dung bomb out of my pocket. I set it off, and toss it casually at Luka. The little bomb hisses for a moment then explodes engulfing my brother in a cloud of stench. Ariana stops beside me shocked, and teary eyed from the stench.

My brother drops to the ground holding his nose. “JAMIE!” Luka roars, but sputters when the taste gets into his mouth. “I’m going to kill you!” He growls. I grin confidently back at him when the first splatter lands. All across my front is a giant mud stain. I narrow my eyes at my brother dangerously.

“Oh its on brother dearest!” I say. I quickly bend down, and fling mud into my brother’s fleeing backside. Ariana is in hysterics from beside me, and I grin faintly before splattering mud all over the side of her face. She pauses, and gives me one of the most indignant looks that I’ve ever seen her use.

“Run for your life Pendragon.” She says deadly. With that the three of us chase each other back up the path to the castle. By the time that we’re back at the front entrance of the castle the three of us are almost covered from head to toe in mud. You can’t miss the bright smiles on our face though, even if you tried.

We go our separate ways promising that we’re going to do this again sometime because it had been a lot of fun. I have to dodge Filch on the stairs going to the tower since I’m tracking mud in his hallways. “I’LL HANG YOU BY YOUR FINGERNAILS IN THE DUNGEONS!”

Well someone’s having a bad day. I manage to make it back to my common room undetected by the enraged caretaker, and up to my dorm to take a shower. Hermione looks up from her bed when I come in. “Oh Merlin Jamie, what happened to you?” She asks her eyes wide.

“I ticked off a Dumbledore Mione, I would highly suggest in not doing so.” I chirp heading into the showers after grabbing a fresh change of clothes.

When I return from the showers feeling refreshed I go back into the room and find Hermione looking down at a letter stony faced. “What’s the matter Mione?” I ask her worriedly, thinking that something bad had happened to her again. I’m not sure that I’m going to be able to keep up with much more of this.

“It’s Hagrid… Buckbeak’s lost his case, he’s going to be executed." Horror washes over me when I think about poor Buckbeak and how miserable Hagrid is going to be. Well there went my happy bubble.


	13. The Quidditch Final

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

Chapter 13- The Quidditch Final

 

So after Hermione dealt the cutting blow of my favorite Hippogriff’s death the two of us make to leave the tower. We have to find Harry and Ron, and my best guess is that they’re coming back from Hogsmeade. We make it no farther than out our portrait hole when we spot Ron and Harry.

“Come to have a good gloat?” says Ron savagely as we stop in front of them. “Or have you just been to tell on us?” Oh, they must have gotten in trouble then.

“No,” says Hermione. She is holding the letter in her hands and her lip is trembling. “I just thought you ought to know . . . Hagrid lost his case. Buckbeak is going to be executed.” I wince again even though I had already heard the news. Buckbeak didn’t do anything wrong unlike the Fluffy the three headed hellhound, or Aragog the man eating spider. If anything those creatures should be dealt with instead.

“He — he sent me this,” Hermione says, holding out the letter. I watch as the boys read the words that are coming close to being seared into my brain.

“They can’t do this,” says Harry. “They can’t. Buckbeak isn’t dangerous.”

“Malfoy’s dad’s frightened the Committee into it,” I tell them gripping my hands into fists. Hermione is wiping her eyes. “You know what he’s like. They’re a bunch of doddery old fools, and they were scared. There’ll be an appeal, though, there always is. Only I can’t see any hope. . . . .Nothing will have changed.”

“Yeah, it will,” says Ron fiercely. “You won’t have to do all the work alone this time, Hermione. I’ll help.”

“Oh, Ron!” Hermione flings her arms around Ron’s neck and breaks down completely. Ron, looking quite terrified, pats her very awkwardly on the top of the head. Finally, Hermione draws away.

“Ron, I’m really, really sorry about Scabbers . . . . ,” she sobs. If he says one word…

“Oh — well — he was old,” says Ron, looking thoroughly relieved that she has let go of him. “And he was a bit useless. You never know, Mum and Dad might get me an owl now.”

I give both boys a long look wondering if this reconciliation is for real. “Are we done being prats now?” I ask them eyeing the pair suspiciously. The boys turn their gazes on me and shoot me sheepish looks.

“We shouldn’t have acted the way that we did Jamie.” Harry tells me looking me in the eye so that I can tell that he’s serious.

“And I’m sorry Hermione… I shouldn’t have focused so much on Scabbers. I don’t want to lose either of you as friends.” Ron apologizes as well rubbing the back of his head. I share a glance with Hermione before turning back to the boys.

“No more bone headed git moves until next year!” I say sternly, before grabbing each of them in a tight hug.

* * *

 

The safety measures imposed on the students since Black’s second break-in makes it impossible for Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I to go and visit Hagrid in the evenings. Our only chance of talking to him is during Care of Magical Creatures lessons.

He seems numb with shock at the verdict.

“S’all my fault. Got all tongue-tied. They was all sittin’ there in black robes an’ I kep’ droppin’ me notes and forgettin’ all them dates yeh looked up fer me, Hermione. An’ then Lucius Malfoy stood up an’ said his bit, and the Committee jus’ did exac’ly what he told ’em. . . .”

Why if I ever see that man again, I’m going to give him a piece of my mind. “There’s still the appeal!” says Ron fiercely. “Don’t give up yet, we’re working on it!” Ron’s attitude towards everything has taken a significant turn for the better.

We are walking back up to the castle with the rest of the class. Ahead we can see Malfoy, who is walking with Crabbe and Goyle, and keeps looking back, laughing derisively.

“S’no good, Ron,” says Hagrid sadly as we reach the castle steps. “That Committee’s in Lucius Malfoy’s pocket. I’m jus’ gonna make sure the rest o’ Beaky’s time is the happiest he’s ever had. I owe him that. . . .”

Hagrid turns around and hurries back toward his cabin, his face buried in his handkerchief.

“Look at him blubber!” Oh that boy is hurting for some hexes. “Have you ever seen anything quite as pathetic?” says Malfoy. “And he’s supposed to be our teacher!”

Harry, Ron, and I both make furious moves towards Malfoy, but Hermione gets there first — SMACK!

She slaps Malfoy across the face with all the strength she can muster. Malfoy staggers. Harry, Ron, Crabbe, Goyle, and I stand flabbergasted as Hermione raises her hand again.

“Don’t you dare call Hagrid pathetic, you foul — you evil —” I can’t help but stop laughing at the look on Malfoy’s face! Oh Merlin! Hermione is now my favorite person forever and ever!

“Get him Mione! Make him regret ever showing his weasely face here ever again!” I cry egging my best friend on. This day will go down as my favorite one in history for a long time to come!

“Hermione!” says Ron weakly, and he tries to grab her hand as she swings it back.

“Get off, Ron!” Hermione pulls out her wand. Malfoy steps backward, and I bounce in anticipation. Please turn into a weasel please! Crabbe and Goyle look at him for instructions, thoroughly bewildered.

“C’mon,” Malfoy mutters, and in a moment, all three of them have disappeared into the passageway to the dungeons.

“Hermione!” Ron says again, sounding both stunned and impressed.

“You rock Mione! I’m so proud of you!” I cry embracing the girl in a tight hug.

“Harry, Jamie, you better beat him in the Quidditch final!” Hermione says shrilly. “You just better had, because I can’t stand it if Slytherin wins!”

“You’re not the only one.” I say darkly.

“We’re due in Charms,” says Ron, still goggling at Hermione. “We’d better go.”

We hurry up the marble staircase towards Professor Flitwick’s classroom.

“You’re late!” says Professor Flitwick reprovingly as Harry opens the classroom door. “Come along, quickly, wands out, we’re experimenting with Cheering Charms today, we’ve already divided into pairs —”

Harry and Ron hurry to a desk at the back and open their bags. I go to the only other open desk and look around for Hermione. Ron looks behind him. “Where’s Hermione gone?” I honestly don’t know.

Harry looks around too. Hermione hasn’t entered the classroom, yet I know she has been right next to us when we opened the door. “Professor! I don’t have a partner!” I say raising my hand. Professor Flitwick raises his eyebrow and comes over to me. Charms is my favorite class since coming to Hogwarts and if I can say so, I’m not too shabby at it. “Partner with Potter and Weasley for this class Pendragon. There’s nothing else to be done since you’re partner is not present at the moment.” He squeaks and turns back to the rest of the class.

I turn around in my seat and face the boys. They both have puzzled looks on their faces as well. “That’s weird,” says Harry, staring at us. “Maybe — maybe she went to the bathroom or something?”

But Hermione doesn’t turn up all lesson.

“She could’ve done with a Cheering Charm on her too,” says Ron as the class leaves for lunch, all grinning broadly — the Cheering Charms have left us with a feeling of great contentment.

Hermione isn’t at lunch either. By the time we have finished our apple pie, the after-effects of the Cheering Charms are wearing off, and Harry, Ron, and I start to get slightly worried.

“She just seems to disappear.” I say bewildered.

“You don’t think Malfoy did something to her?” Ron says anxiously as we hurry upstairs towards Gryffindor Tower.

“I’m beginning to think that there is more to your theory about Hermione Jamie. Its just too odd for something like this to happen.” Harry tells me huffing as we jump up the last few steps.

We pass the security trolls, give the Fat Lady the password (“Flibbertigibbet”), and scramble through the portrait hole into the common room.

Hermione is sitting at a table, fast asleep, her head resting on an open Arithmancy book. We go to sit down on either side of her. Harry prods her awake.

“W-what?” says Hermione, waking with a start and staring wildly around. “Is it time to go? W-which lesson have we got now?”

“Divination, but it’s not for another twenty minutes,” I tell her. “Hermione, why didn’t you come to Charms?”

“What? Oh no!” Hermione squeaks. “I forgot to go to Charms!”

“But how could you forget?” asks Harry. “You were with us till we were right outside the classroom!”

“I don’t believe it!” Hermione wails. “Was Professor Flitwick angry? Oh, it was Malfoy, I was thinking about him and I lost track of things!”

“You know what, Hermione?” says Ron, looking down at the enormous Arithmancy book Hermione has been using as a pillow. “I reckon you’re cracking up. You’re trying to do too much.”

“No, I’m not!” says Hermione, brushing her hair out of her eyes and staring hopelessly around for her bag. “I just made a mistake, that’s all! I’d better go and see Professor Flitwick and say sorry. . . . I’ll see you in Divination!”

Hermione joins us at the foot of the ladder to Professor Trelawney’s classroom twenty minutes later, looking extremely harrassed.

“I can’t believe I missed Cheering Charms! And I bet they come up in our exams; Professor Flitwick hinted they might!”

Together we climb the ladder into the dim, stifling tower room. Glowing on every little table is a crystal ball full of pearly white mist. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I sit down together at the same rickety table.

“I thought we weren’t starting crystal balls until next term,” Ron mutters, casting a wary eye around for Professor Trelawney, in case she is lurking nearby.

“Don’t complain, this means we’ve finished palmistry,” Harry mutters back. “I was getting sick of her flinching every time she looked at my hands.”

“Good day to you!” says the familiar, misty voice, and Professor Trelawney makes her usual dramatic entrance out of the shadows. Parvati and Lavender quiver with excitement, their faces lit by the milky glow of their crystal ball.

“I have decided to introduce the crystal ball a little earlier than I had planned,” says Professor Trelawney, sitting with her back to the fire and gazing around. “The fates have informed me that your examination in June will concern the Orb, and I am anxious to give you sufficient practice.”

Hermione snorts. I kick her in warning underneath the table. She’s going to get in trouble one of these days. “Well, honestly . . . ‘the fates have informed her’ . . . who sets the exam? She does! What an amazing prediction!” she says, not troubling to keep her voice low. Harry and Ron choked back laughs, and I can’t keep back my grin.

It is hard to tell whether Professor Trelawney has heard us, as her face is hidden in shadow. She continues, however, as though she has not.

“Crystal gazing is a particularly refined art,” she says dreamily. “I do not expect any of you to See when first you peer into the Orb’s infinite depths. We shall start by practicing relaxing the conscious mind and external eyes” — Ron begins to snigger uncontrollably and has to stuff his fist in his mouth to stifle the noise — “so as to clear the Inner Eye and the superconscious. Perhaps, if we are lucky, some of you will See before the end of the class.”

Oh boy this is going to be entertaining. And so we begin. I, at least, feel extremely foolish, staring blankly at the crystal ball, trying to keep my mind empty when thoughts such as “This is stupid” keep drifting across it. It doesn’t help that Ron keeps breaking into silent giggles and Hermione keeps tutting. Harry hasn’t stopped couching to cover up snorts of laughter.

“Seen anything yet?” Harry asks us after a quarter of an hour’s quiet crystal gazing.

“Only the insides of my eyelids.” I reply trying to stifle a yawn behind my hand.

“Yeah, there’s a burn on this table,” says Ron, pointing. “Someone’s spilled their candle.”

“This is such a waste of time,” Hermione hisses. “I could be practicing something useful. I could be catching up on Cheering Charms —”

Professor Trelawney rustles past. “Would anyone like me to help them interpret the shadowy portents within their Orb?” she murmurs over the clinking of her bangles.

“I don’t need help,” Ron whispers. “It’s obvious what this means. There’s going to be loads of fog tonight.”

The three of us burst out laughing.

“Now, really!” says Professor Trelawney as everyone’s heads turn in our direction. Parvati and Lavender are looking scandalized. “You are disturbing the clairvoyant vibrations!” She approaches our table and peers into our crystal ball. Please tell me she’s not doing what I think that she’s doing.

“There is something here!” Professor Trelawney whispers, lowering her face to the ball, so that it is reflects twice in her huge glasses. “Something moving . . . but what is it?”

This isn’t going to end well. I can just feel it. “My dear . . . ,” Professor Trelawney breathes, gazing up at Harry. “It is here, plainer than ever before . . . my dear, stalking toward you, growing ever closer . . . the Gr —”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake!” says Hermione loudly. “Not that ridiculous Grim again!”

Professor Trelawney raises her enormous eyes to Hermione’s face. Parvati whispers something to Lavender, and they both glare at Hermione too. Professor Trelawney stands up, surveying Hermione with unmistakable anger.

“I am sorry to say that from the moment you have arrived in this class, my dear, it has been apparent that you do not have what the noble art of Divination requires. Indeed, I don’t remember ever meeting a student whose mind was so hopelessly mundane.” No one has ever called Hermione Granger mundane before. I think that it’s practically against nature to do so.

There is a moment’s silence. Then —

“Fine!” says Hermione suddenly, getting up and cramming Unfogging the Future back into her bag. “Fine!” she repeats, swinging the bag over her shoulder and almost knocking Ron off his chair. “I give up! I’m leaving!” Wait! Hermione Granger, Miss loves school, is quitting?

And to the whole class’s amazement, Hermione strides over to the trapdoor, kicks it open, and climbs down the ladder out of sight. I bite my lip in worry watching my best friend go. A great part of me is amused by her reaction as well.

It takes a few minutes for the class to settle down again. Professor Trelawney seems to have forgotten all about the Grim. She turns abruptly from our table, breathing rather heavily as she tugs her gauzy shawl more closely to her.

“Ooooo!” says Lavender suddenly, making everyone start. “Oooooo, Professor Trelawney, I’ve just remembered! You saw her leaving, didn’t you? Didn’t you, Professor? ‘Around Easter, one of our number will leave us forever!’ You said it ages ago, Professor!”

Professor Trelawney gives her a dewy smile.

“Yes, my dear, I did indeed know that Miss Granger would be leaving us. One hopes, however, that one might have mistaken the Signs. . . . The Inner Eye can be a burden, you know. . . .”

“I rather think she was predicting the departure of Lavender and Parvati’s common sense, but that seems to have left them quite some time ago.” I say just loud enough for the boys and the two in question to hear. I get scathing looks in reply to my comment, and Ron and Harry snicker.

“Some day Hermione’s having, eh?” Ron mutters to Harry, and me, looking awed.

“Yeah . . .”

* * *

The Easter holidays are not exactly relaxing. The third years have never had so much homework. Neville Longbottom seems close to a nervous collapse, and he isn’t the only one.

“Call this a holiday!” Seamus Finnigan roars at the common room one afternoon.  “The exams are ages away, what’re they playing at?”

But nobody has as much to do as Hermione. Even without Divination, she is taking more subjects than anybody else. She is usually last to leave the common room at night, first to arrive at the library the next morning; she has shadows like Lupin’s under her eyes, and seems constantly close to tears.

I would be more worried about her, but I’m currently swamped with work myself as it is. Ron has taken over responsibility for Buckbeak’s appeal. When he isn’t doing his own work, he is poring over enormously thick volumes with names like The Handbook of Hippogriff Psychology and Fowl or Foul? A Study of Hippogriff Brutality.

He is so absorbed, he even forgets to be horrible to Crookshanks. Harry and I meanwhile, have to fit in our homework around Quidditch practice every day, not to mention endless discussions of tactics with Wood. The Gryffindor-Slytherin match will take place on the first Saturday after the Easter holidays. Slytherin is leading the tournament by exactly two hundred points. This means (as Wood constantly reminds his team) that we need to win the match by more than that amount to win the Cup. It also means that the burden of winning falls largely on Harry, because capturing the Snitch is worth one hundred and fifty points.

I feel for my friend but Wood is working us Chasers to the bone making sure that we are prepared to score at every given opportunity that we have. To say that I’m exhausted is to say the least. I’ve taken to doing my work and studying in the library with Luka and Ariana again, for they both have a brilliant study system in place, and both know how to keep me on track.

Wood even seems to find us in the moments we least expect him to like in a library or directly out of its doors. “So you must catch it only if we’re more than fifty points up,” Wood tells Harry constantly. “Only if we’re more than fifty points up, Harry, or we win the match but lose the Cup. You’ve got that, haven’t you? You must catch the Snitch only if we’re —”

“I KNOW, OLIVER!” Harry yells. The stress that Oliver is putting on Harry is definitely getting to him. I think that it’s safe to say that everyone is on edge around here.

The whole of Gryffindor House is obsessed with the coming match. Gryffindor hasn’t won the Quidditch Cup since the legendary Charlie Weasley (Ron’s second oldest brother) has been Seeker. But I doubt whether any of them, even Wood, wants to win as much as Harry does even me. The enmity between Harry and Malfoy is at its highest point ever. Malfoy is still smarting about the mud-throwing incident in Hogsmeade and is even more furious than Harry has somehow worms his way out of punishment. Harry hasn’t forgotten Malfoy’s attempt to sabotage him in the match against Ravenclaw, but it is the matter of Buckbeak that makes us most determined to beat Malfoy in front of the entire school.

I’ve been pushing myself to the limit the past few weeks so much that I’ve been falling asleep in most of the worst places popular. One time Ariana woke me up from my position sitting on the floor leaning against a bookshelf in the back of the library. She didn’t say anything though. Only kept a hand on my arm as she walked me up to the landing to Gryffindor tower, with the threat to go straight to bed.

Never, in anyone’s memory, has a match approached in such a highly charged atmosphere. By the time the holidays are over, tension between the two teams and their Houses are at the breaking point. A number of small scuffles break out in the corridors, culminating in a nasty incident in which a Gryffindor fourth year and a Slytherin sixth year end up in the hospital wing with leeks sprouting out of their ears.

Harry is having a particularly bad time of it. He can’t walk to class without Slytherins sticking out their legs and trying to trip him up; Crabbe and Goyle keep popping up wherever he goes, and slouching away looking disappointed when they see him surrounded by people.

Wood has given instructions that Harry should be accompanied everywhere, in case the Slytherins try to put him out of action. The whole of Gryffindor House takes up the challenge enthusiastically, so that it is impossible for Harry (and me by association) to get to classes on time because he is surrounded by a vast, chattering crowd. Harry is more concerned for his Firebolt’s safety than his own of course. When he isn’t flying it, he locks it securely in his trunk and frequently dashes back up to Gryffindor Tower at break times to check that it is still there.

I think that that is a little over the top, but who am I to say otherwise, I’m not the one with the Firebolt.

* * *

All usual pursuits are abandoned in the Gryffindor common room the night before the match. Even Hermione has put down her books.

“I can’t work, I can’t concentrate,” she says nervously.

“Tell me something that I don’t know, I can’t even draw and if I can’t draw than that is bad.” I say tapping my hands against my leg nervously.

There is a great deal of noise. Fred and George Weasley are dealing with the pressure by being louder and more exuberant than ever. Oliver Wood is crouched over a model of a Quidditch field in the corner, prodding little figures across it with his wand and muttering to himself. Angelina and Katie are laughing at Fred’s and George’s jokes. Harry and I are sitting with Ron and Hermione, removed from the center of things, trying not to think about the next day, because every time we do, he has the horrible sensation that something very large is fighting to get out of my stomach.

“You’re going to be fine,” Hermione tells us, though she looks positively terrified.

“Not helping.” I say shakily.

“You’ve got a Firebolt!” says Ron.

“Yeah . . . ,” says Harry, his stomach writhing. It comes as a relief when Wood suddenly stands up and yells, “Team! Bed!” As I climb the bed that night I try to dispel the nervous energy that I feel about the game tomorrow. Hopefully I won’t fall off my broom.

* * *

The next morning in the common room Harry whispers to me about seeing Crookshanks out by the forbidden forest this morning and the big black dog that he saw come out of the forest and meet the cat. To say that I’m now officially spooked is to say the least.

The rest of the Gryffindor team and I enter the Great Hall the next day to enormous applause. I can’t help grinning broadly as I see that both the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables are applauding us too. I manage to spot my brother at the Ravenclaw table. His shirt has a dragon on it, and on both his cheeks is my name. I beam at him for his support in me.

Ariana is a little easier to spot in the support section of Hufflepuff. A lion is painted on one cheek, with my number on the other, and her shirt has her favorite decal of a dragon riding a broom on it. I’m pleased to see that even my friends outside of my own house want me to do well.

The Slytherin table hisses loudly as we pass. I notice that Malfoy looks even paler than usual, I nudge Harry to see if he sees that and judging by the look on his face he does.

Wood spends the whole of breakfast urging his team to eat, while touching nothing himself. Then he hurries us off to the field before anyone else has finished, so we can get an idea of the conditions. As we leave the Great Hall, everyone applauds again.

“Good luck, Harry!” calls Cho Chang. I watch as Harry blushes.

Oh Merlin does the boy have it bad. “You better have your eyes open Pendragon.” Ariana tells me passing by with her friends sporting a wide smile. I grin back at her, and notice that my nerves have gone down considerably.

“Always Dumbledore I have to keep it that way in case trouble comes my way!” I call after her. I can hear her laughter ringing down the halls as she goes.

“Okay — no wind to speak of — sun’s a bit bright, that could impair your vision, watch out for it — ground’s fairly hard, good, that’ll give us a fast kickoff —” Wood paces the field, staring around with the team behind him. Finally, we see the front doors of the castle open in the distance and the rest of the school spilling onto the lawn.

“Locker rooms,” says Wood tersely.

None of us spoke as we change into our scarlet robes. I wonder if we are all feeling like I am: as though there’s a herd of hippogriffs stomping around in my chest. In what seems like no time at all, Wood is saying, “Okay, it’s time, let’s go —”

I’m not sure if I’m ready for this. This is the biggest game that I’ve ever played in in my life to date. What if I screw up? What if I cause us to lose the game? I feel a hand give mine a quick squeeze and look up to see Harry giving me a slightly nervous smile.

Okay I can do this. We can do this. We can and we will win this cup. We walk out onto the field to a tidal wave of noise. Three-quarters of the crowd is wearing scarlet rosettes, waving scarlet flags with the Gryffindor lion upon them, or brandishing banners with slogans like “GO GRYFFINDOR!” and “LIONS FOR THE CUP!”  Behind the Slytherin goalposts, however, two hundred people are wearing green; the silver serpent of Slytherin glitters on their flags, and Professor Snape sits in the very front row, wearing green like everyone else, and a very grim smile.

Not for the first time I’m thankful that I’m not in the Slytherin house. “And here are the Gryffindors!” yells Lee Jordan, who is acting as commentator as usual.  “Potter, Bell, Johnson, Pendragon, Weasley, Weasley, and Wood. Widely acknowledged as the best team Hogwarts has seen in a good few years —”

Lee’s comments are drowned by a tide of “boos” from the Slytherin end.

“And here comes the Slytherin team, led by Captain Flint. He’s made some changes in the lineup and seems to be going for size rather than skill —” More boos from the Slytherin crowd. I, however, think Lee has a point, especially since I have to play against most. They’re all practically twice the size of me and I’m one of the youngest players on the team. Malfoy is easily the smallest person on the Slytherin team; the rest of them are enormous.

“Captains, shake hands!” says Madam Hooch. Flint and Wood approach each other and grasp each other’s hand very tightly; it looks as though each is trying to break the other’s fingers.

“Mount your brooms!” says Madam Hooch. “Three . . . two . . . one . . .”

The sound of her whistle is lost in the roar from the crowd as fourteen brooms rise into the air. I’m instantly immersed in the constant aerial battle that is Quidditch as a Chaser.

“And it’s Gryffindor in possession, Jamie Pendragon of Gryffindor with the Quaffle, heading straight for the Slytherin goalposts, looking good, Jamie! Argh, no — Quaffle intercepted by Warrington, Warrington of Slytherin tearing up the field — WHAM! — nice Bludger work there by George Weasley, Warrington drops the Quaffle, it’s caught by — Johnson, Gryffindor back in possession, come on, Angelina — nice swerve around Montague — duck, Angelina, that’s a Bludger! — SHE SCORES! TEN–ZERO TO GRYFFINDOR!” Yes!

Angelina punches the air as she soars around the end of the field; the sea of scarlet below is screaming its delight —

“OUCH!” Angelina is nearly thrown from her broom as Marcus Flint goes smashing into her. If I was any bigger, I’d go over there and give him a piece of my mind, but I’m not the stupid.

“Sorry!” says Flint as the crowd below booed. “Sorry, didn’t see her!”

A moment later, Fred Weasley chucks his Beater’s club at the back of Flint’s head. Flint’s nose smashes into the handle of his broom and begins to bleed.

“That will do!” shrieks Madam Hooch, zooming between them. “Penalty shot to Gryffindor for an unprovoked attack on their Chaser! Penalty shot to Slytherin for deliberate damage to their Chaser!”

Well this game is shaping up to be a real winner. “Come off it, miss!” howls Fred, but Madam Hooch blows her whistle and I fly forward to take the penalty. Penalty shots are my specialty on the team, I’m really good at the high stress situations.

“Come on, Jamie!” yells Lee into the silence that has descended on the crowd. “YES! SHE’S BEATEN THE KEEPER! TWENTY–ZERO TO GRYFFINDOR!” I pump my arm in victory as Warrington misses the quaffle. He glares at me with contempt and I merely grin back at him victoriously. That makes up for my missed shot earlier.

I turn my broom sharply to watch Flint, still bleeding freely, fly forward to take the Slytherin penalty. Wood is hovering in front of the Gryffindor goalposts, his jaw clenched.

“’Course, Wood’s a superb Keeper!” Lee Jordan tells the crowd as Flint waits for Madam Hooch’s whistle. “Superb! Very difficult to pass — very difficult indeed — YES! I DON’T BELIEVE IT! HE’S SAVED IT!”

Oh Merlin this is quite unbelievable, we’re managing to do the seemingly impossible today so far! Play resumes quickly and I’m back to dodging bludgers, and streaking past opposing chasers.

“Gryffindor in possession, no, Slytherin in possession — no! — Gryffindor back in possession and it’s Katie Bell, Katie Bell for Gryffindor with the Quaffle, she’s streaking up the field — THAT WAS DELIBERATE!”

Montague, a Slytherin Chaser, has swerved in front of Katie, and instead of seizing the Quaffle has grabbed her head. Katie cartwheels in the air, manages to stay on her broom, but drops the Quaffle. Okay that’s not even legal! Now I’m mad and more than a little afraid after watching my teammates be manhandled like this.

Madam Hooch’s whistle rings out again as she soars over to Montague and begins shouting at him. A minute later, Katie has put another penalty past the Slytherin Keeper. “THIRTY–ZERO! TAKE THAT, YOU DIRTY, CHEATING —”

“Jordan, if you can’t commentate in an unbiased way — !”

“I’m telling it like it is, Professor!”

I’m in the thick of it with possession of the quaffle as I work on dodging around the gigantic Slytherins for I’m not sure that I would be able to stay on my broom if in a collision with one of them.

“Ha haaa!” yells Lee Jordan as the Slytherin Beaters lurch away from each other, clutching their heads. “Too bad, boys! You’ll need to get up earlier than that to beat a Firebolt! And it’s Gryffindor in possession again, as Pendragon takes the Quaffle — Flint alongside her — poke him in the eye, Jamie! — it is a joke, Professor, it is a joke — oh no — Flint in possession, Flint flying toward the Gryffindor goalposts, come on now, Wood, save — !”

I’m still sore from where he bashed into me, and overturned my on my broom. I manage to climb back onto my seat from my dangling position though. But Flint has scored; there is an eruption of cheers from the Slytherin end, and Lee swears so badly that Professor McGonagall tries to tug the magical megaphone away from him.

“Sorry, Professor, sorry! Won’t happen again! So, Gryffindor in the lead, thirty points to ten, and Gryffindor in possession —”

It is turning into the dirtiest game I have ever played in. Enraged that Gryffindor has taken such an early lead, the Slytherins are rapidly resorting to any means to take the Quaffle. Bole hits me with his club and tries to say he thought I am a Bludger. George Weasley elbows Bole in the face in retaliation (my hero). Madam Hooch awards both teams penalties, and Wood pulls off another spectacular save, making the score forty–ten to Gryffindor, after I manage to put away another penalty shot.

Katie scores. Fifty–ten. Fred and George Weasley are swooping around her, clubs raised, in case any of the Slytherins are thinking of revenge. Bole and Derrick take advantage of Fred’s and George’s absence to aim both Bludgers at Wood; they catch him in the stomach, one after the other, and he rolls over in the air, clutching his broom, completely winded. That’s a low blow, no one attacks the keeper when the quaffle isn’t in play.

Madam Hooch is beside herself. “YOU DO NOT ATTACK THE KEEPER UNLESS THE QUAFFLE IS WITHIN THE SCORING AREA!” she shrieks at Bole and Derrick. “Gryffindor penalty!”

And Angelina scores. Sixty–ten. Moments later, Fred Weasley pelts a Bludger at Warrington, knocking the Quaffle out of his hands; I seize it and put it through the Slytherin goal — seventy–ten. This is one of my better games despite everything though I’m going to be littered in bruises tomorrow.

The Gryffindor crowd below is screaming itself hoarse — Gryffindor is sixty points in the lead, and if Harry catches the Snitch now, the Cup is ours. So I put another burst of speed on and attempt to run interference for Angelina who is attempting to steal the quaffle from Flint.

Apparently the Seekers are now joining in on the dirty play. “Penalty! Penalty to Gryffindor! I’ve never seen such tactics!” Madam Hooch screeches, shooting up to where Malfoy is sliding back onto his Nimbus Two Thousand and One. He had been holding onto the back of Harry’s broom to keep him from getting the snitch.

“YOU CHEATING SCUM!” Lee Jordan is howling into the megaphone, dancing out of Professor McGonagall’s reach. “YOU FILTHY, CHEATING B —”

Professor McGonagall doesn’t even bother to tell him off. She is actually shaking her finger in Malfoy’s direction, her hat has fallen off, and she too is shouting furiously.

I take Gryffindor’s penalty, but I’m so angry I miss by several feet. The Gryffindor team is losing concentration and the Slytherins, delighted by Malfoy’s foul on Harry, are being spurred on to greater heights.

“Slytherin in possession, Slytherin heading for goal — Montague scores —” Lee groans. “Seventy–twenty to Gryffindor. . . .” Okay get your head in the game Pendragon. This is no time to be letting your emotions be getting the best of you!

“Angelina Johnson gets the Quaffle for Gryffindor, come on, Angelina, COME ON!” All the Slytherins are flying to her now. I kick up the speed and shoot towards them to disperse them, and Harry dive-bombs from above to break them up. It works, we narrowly miss each other, but someone grabs onto my arm from the fray, and twists.

With a sickening snap the bones in my arm break. I cry out in pain, cradling the arm to me. “SHE SCORES! SHE SCORES! Gryffindor leads by eighty points to twenty! And A LOW DOWN ROTTEN FOUL BY FLINT! CHASER PENDRAGON’S ARM APPEARS TO BE BROKEN!” Jordan yells through the microphone.

No one seems to pay him heed though which relieves me, for it seems like the Seekers have found the snitch. I still chase after the quaffle though, even though it’s a half-hearted effort. “YES!”

Harry pulls out of his dive, his hand in the air, and the stadium explodes. Harry soars above the crowd, an odd ringing in his ears. The tiny golden ball is held tight in his fist, beating its wings hopelessly against his fingers. We won! Holy Merlin we actually won!

Then Wood is speeding towards him, half-blinded by tears; he seizes Harry around the neck and sobs unrestrainedly into his shoulder. Harry feels two large thumps as Fred and George hit them; then Angelina’s, Katie’s, and my voices, “We’ve won the Cup! We’ve won the Cup!” Tangled together in a many-armed hug (me one armed and gingerly on the outside), the Gryffindor team sinks, yelling hoarsely, back to earth.

This moment is one of the best of my life. Wave upon wave of crimson supporters are pouring over the barriers onto the field. Hands are raining down on our backs. I had a confused impression of noise and bodies pressing in on me. I can barely feel my broken arm anymore. Then the rest of the team and me, are hoisted onto the shoulders of the crowd. Thrust into the light, I see Hagrid, plastered with crimson rosettes — “Yeh beat ’em, Harry, Jamie yeh beat ’em! Wait till I tell Buckbeak!”  There is Percy, jumping up and down like a maniac, all dignity forgotten. Professor McGonagall is sobbing harder even than Wood, wiping her eyes with an enormous Gryffindor flag; and there, fighting their way towards Harry and me, are Ron and Hermione.

I grin at my friends caught up in the moment, and searching for the others. Words failed them. They simply beam as Harry, and I are borne toward the stands, where Dumbledore stands waiting with the enormous Quidditch Cup. A sobbing Wood hands Harry the cup, as he lifts it into the air. This moment is perfect.

A few minutes later though, I’m winding through the crowd attempting to get away to go and get my arm fixed it hurts something fierce. “That was quite a hit you took Jamie are you okay?” Luka asks me worriedly pushing over to me a paling at the sight of my arm. Ariana is a step behind me. It takes her a second to assess he situation before she grabs my good arm, and starts marching me back to the castle.

“Come on Pendragon its time to get you patched back up yet again. At least you listened me this time and made it longer then a month.” Ariana says. And even through the pain, I can’t help but smirk. This day was great and so totally worth it.


	14. Professor Trelawney's Prediction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

Chapter 14- Professor Trelawney’s Prediction

 

My euphoria at finally winning the Quidditch Cup lasts at least a week. Even the weather seems to be celebrating; as June approaches, the days become cloudless and sultry, and all anybody feels like doing is strolling onto the grounds and flopping down on the grass with several pints of iced pumpkin juice, perhaps playing a casual game of Gobstones or watching the giant squid propel itself dreamily across the surface of the lake.

But we can’t. Exams are nearly upon us, and instead of lazing around outside, the students are forced to remain inside the castle, trying to bully their brains into concentrating while enticing wafts of summer air drift in through the windows. Even Fred and George Weasley have been spotted working; they are about to take their O.W.L.s (Ordinary Wizarding Levels). Percy is getting ready to take his N.E.W.T.s (Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests), the highest qualification Hogwarts offers. As Percy hopes to enter the Ministry of Magic, he needs top grades. He is becoming increasingly edgy, and gives very severe punishments to anybody who disturbs the quiet of the common room in the evenings. In fact, the only person who seems more anxious than Percy is Hermione.

And I’m seriously starting to worry for my best friend’s sanity. Harry, Ron, and I have given up asking her how she has managing to attend several classes at once, but we can’t restrain ourselves when we see the exam schedule she has drawn up for herself. The first column reads:

Monday

9 o'clock, Arithmancy

9 o'clock, Transfiguration

Lunch

1 o'clock, Charms

1 o'clock, Ancient Runes

 

“Hermione?” I say cautiously, because she is liable to explode when interrupted these days. “Er — are you sure you’ve copied down these times right?”

“What?” snaps Hermione, picking up the exam schedule and examining it. “Yes, of course I have.”

“Is there any point asking how you’re going to sit for two exams at once?” says Harry.

“No,” says Hermione shortly. “Have either of you seen my copy of Numerology and Grammatica?”

“Oh, yeah, I borrowed it for a bit of bedtime reading,” says Ron, but very quietly. Hermione starts shifting heaps of parchment around on her table, looking for the book. Just then, there is a rustle at the window and Hedwig flutters through it, a note clutched tight in her beak.

“It’s from Hagrid,” says Harry, ripping the note open. “Buckbeak’s appeal — it’s set for the sixth.”

“That’s the day we finish our exams,” says Hermione, still looking everywhere for her Arithmancy book.

“Well at least there’s some good news.” I say rubbing my forehead, trying to ward off a headache.

“And they’re coming up here to do it,” says Harry, still reading from the letter. “Someone from the Ministry of Magic and — and an executioner.”

Hermione and I look up, startled.

“They’re bringing the executioner to the appeal! But that sounds as though they’ve already decided!” She cries

“Yeah, it does,” says Harry slowly.

“They can’t!” Ron howls. “I’ve spent ages reading up on stuff for him; they can’t just ignore it all!”

“I know Ron, but sometimes the Ministry is more complex to navigate than this. I’ve tried messaging Kingsley to see if he can put a stop to this with our position, but he hasn’t responded to my letters in the last few months. Always away on assignments…” I trail off staring out the window blankly.

I feel a hand on my arm but I ignore it. Why can’t I seem to catch a break this year?

* * *

Exam week begins and an unnatural hush falls over the castle. The third years emerge from Transfiguration at lunchtime on Monday, limp and ashen-faced, comparing results and bemoaning the difficulty of the tasks they had been set, which had included turning a teapot into a tortoise. Hermione irritated the rest by fussing about how her tortoise had looked more like a turtle, which was the least of everyone else’s worries.

“Mine still had a spout for a tail, what a nightmare. . . .”

“Were the tortoises supposed to breathe steam?”

“It still had a willow-patterned shell, d’you think that’ll count against me?”

I didn’t do nearly as bad as I thought that I was so I was happily pleased with the results. Then, after a hasty lunch, it is straight back upstairs for the Charms exam. Hermione was right; Professor Flitwick does indeed test us on Cheering Charms. I fly through my exam with flying colors and a very excited and happy look on Professor Flitwick’s face as he roars with laughter.

“J-Just… like your mother!” He cries. I beam a smile at him and exit the room. After dinner, the students hurry back to their common rooms, not to relax, but to start studying for Care of Magical Creatures, Potions, and Astronomy.

Hagrid presides over the Care of Magical Creatures exam the following morning with a very preoccupied air indeed; his heart doesn’t seem to be in it at all. He has provided a large tub of fresh flobberworms for the class, and tells us that to pass the test, our flobberworm had to still be alive at the end of one hour. As flobberworms flourish best if left to their own devices, it was the easiest exam any of us have ever taken, and also gives Harry, Ron, Hermione, and me plenty of opportunity to speak to Hagrid.

“Beaky’s gettin’ a bit depressed,” Hagrid tells us, bending low on the pretense of checking that Harry’s flobberworm is still alive. “Bin cooped up too long. But still . . . we’ll know day after tomorrow — one way or the other —”

We have Potions that afternoon, which is an unqualified disaster. Try as I might, I can’t get my Confusing Concoction to thicken enough, and Snape, standing watch with an air of vindictive pleasure, scribbles something that looked suspiciously like a low mark onto his notes before moving away. Well that’s just perfect.

Then comes Astronomy at midnight, up on the tallest tower; History of Magic on Wednesday morning, in which I scribble everything Harry told me that Florean Fortescue had ever told him about medieval witch-hunts, while wishing I could have had one of Fortescue’s choco-nut sundaes with me in the stifling classroom.  Wednesday afternoon means Herbology, in the greenhouses under a baking-hot sun; then back to the common room once more, with sunburnt necks, thinking longingly of this time next day, when it will all be over.

Exams this year seem to be a hundred times harder than the previous years. Our second to last exam, on Thursday morning, is Defense Against the Dark Arts. Professor Lupin has compiled the most unusual exam any of us have ever taken: a sort of obstacle course outside in the sun, where we have to wade across a deep paddling pool containing a grindylow, cross a series of potholes full of Red Caps, squish our way across a patch of marsh while ignoring misleading directions from a hinkypunk, then climb into an old trunk and battle with a new boggart.

“Excellent, Harry,” Lupin mutters as Harry climbed out of the trunk, grinning. “Full marks.” It had been my turn to go before Harry, and I had done to stunningly until I came to the boggart where I froze for a moment. It was the same as last time. Augustus Pendragon in all his decrepit glory jumped out of the trunk. Before he could open his vile mouth though I cast the spell, and Augustus was dressed in a pretty pink dress, and a matching pink bonnet on his head.

When I had climb out of the trunk Lupin had asked to talk to me for a few moments after the exam. Flushed with his success, Harry hangs around to watch Ron and Hermione with me. Ron does very well until he reaches the hinkypunk, which successfully confuses him into sinking waist-high into the quagmire.  Hermione did everything perfectly until she reaches the trunk with the boggart in it. After about a minute inside it, she bursts out again, screaming.

“Hermione!” says Lupin, startled. “What’s the matter?”

“P-P-Professor McGonagall!” Hermione gasps, pointing into the trunk. “Sh-she said I’d failed everything!” Oh Merlin! Only Hermione would have a boggart like that!

After the last student had gone, I slowly make my way up to Professor Lupin wondering curiously what he could possibly want to talk to me about. When he sees me approach, he turns to face me directly. I know that Harry likes him, but I’ve had hardly any interaction with his professor since the train and class. “You wanted to speak to me?” I ask him cautiously.

He levels an unreadable look on me. “I know who your boggart is Jamie Pendragon. I went to school with your father, and for one year your uncle as well. I assume that since you’re boggart is of him, that you know of his existence and the true story behind your parents death?” He asks me softly.

I stiffen, and nod my head rigidly in response. “Come by my office sometime before school ends. I have something that I have been wanting to give you, but it never seemed like the right time.” I nod my head dumbly again and trudge up to my friends.

“What was that about?” Hermione asks me.

“I’ll tell you later.” I say not exactly sure what to make out of everything that was going on.

Ron is still slightly laughing at Hermione’s boggart, but an argument is averted by the sight that meets us on the top of the steps.

Cornelius Fudge, sweating slightly in his pinstriped cloak, is standing there staring out at the grounds. He starts at the sight of Harry.

“Hello there, Harry!” he says. “Just had an exam, I expect? Nearly finished?”

“Yes,” says Harry. Hermione, Ron, and I, not being on speaking terms with the Minister of Magic, hover awkwardly in the background.

“Lovely day,” says Fudge, casting an eye over the lake. “Pity . . . pity . . .” He sighs deeply and looks down at Harry.

“I’m here on an unpleasant mission, Harry. The Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures required a witness to the execution of a mad hippogriff. As I needed to visit Hogwarts to check on the Black situation, I was asked to step in.”

“Does that mean the appeal’s already happened?” Ron interrupts, stepping forward.

“No, no, it’s scheduled for this afternoon,” says Fudge, looking curiously at Ron.

“Then you might not have to witness an execution at all!” says Ron stoutly. “The hippogriff might get off!”

Oh he probably shouldn’t take this tone when talking to the Minister. All those etiquette lessons are coming back to me.

Before Fudge can answer, two wizards come through the castle doors behind him. One is so ancient he appears to be withering before their very eyes; the other is tall and strapping, with a thin black mustache. Harry gathers that they are representatives of the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures, because the very old wizard squinted towards Hagrid’s cabin and says in a feeble voice, “Dear, dear, I’m getting too old for this. . . . Two o’clock, isn’t it, Fudge?”

The black-mustached man is fingering something in his belt; I look and see that he is running one broad thumb along the blade of a shining axe. Ron opens his mouth to say something, but Hermione nudges him hard in the ribs and jerks her head toward the entrance hall.

“Why’d you stop me?” says Ron angrily as we enter the Great Hall for lunch. “Did you see them? They’ve even got the axe ready! This isn’t justice!”

“Ron, your dad works for the Ministry, you can’t go saying things like that to his boss!” I say, but she too looks very upset. “As long as Hagrid keeps his head this time, and argues his case properly, they can’t possibly execute Buckbeak. . . .”

I don’t really believe what she is saying. All around them, people are talking excitedly as we eat our lunch, happily anticipating the end of the exams that afternoon, but Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I are lost in worry about Hagrid and Buckbeak, don’t join in.

Harry’s, Ron’s, and my last exam is Divination; Hermione’s, Muggle Studies. We walk up the marble staircase together; Hermione leaves us on the first floor and Harry and Ron proceed all the way up to the seventh, where many of our class are sitting on the spiral staircase to Professor Trelawney’s classroom, trying to cram in a bit of last-minute studying.

“She’s seeing us all separately,” Neville informs us as we go to sit down next to him. He has his copy of Unfogging the Future open on his lap at the pages devoted to crystal gazing. “Have any of you ever seen anything in a crystal ball?” he asks us unhappily.

“Nope,” says Ron in an offhand voice. He keeps checking his watch; Harry and I know that he is counting down the time until Buckbeak’s appeal starts. I’m just as worried as he is.

The line of people outside the classroom shortens very slowly. As each person climbs back down the silver ladder, the rest of the class hisses, “What did she ask? Was it okay?”

But they all refuse to say. “She says the crystal ball’s told her that if I tell you, I’ll have a horrible accident!” squeaks Neville as he clambers back down the ladder towards Harry, Ron, and me, now reaching the landing.

“That’s convenient,” snorts Ron. “You know, I’m starting to think Hermione is right about her” — he jabs his thumb towards the trapdoor overhead — “she’s a right old fraud.”

“I never thought that she could actually predict anything.” I tell him.

“Yeah,” says Harry, looking at his own watch. It is now two o’clock. “Wish she’d hurry up . . .”

Parvati comes back down the ladder glowing with pride. “She says I’ve got all the makings of a true Seer,” she informs us. “I saw loads of stuff. . . . Well, good luck!”

She hurries off down the spiral staircase towards Lavender.

Only a hack could really think that either one of the two of them actually have seen anything in those crystal balls of hers. I shiver in disgust. “Ronald Weasley,” says the familiar, misty voice from over our heads. Ron grimaces at Harry and me and climbs the silver ladder out of sight. Harry and I are now the only people left to be tested.   We settle ourselves on the floor with our backs against the wall, listening to a fly buzzing in the sunny window, our minds across the grounds with Hagrid.

Finally, after about twenty minutes, Ron’s large feet reappear on the ladder.

“How’d it go?” Harry asks him, standing up.

“Rubbish,” says Ron. “Couldn’t see a thing, so I made some stuff up. Don’t think she was convinced, though. . . .”

“Meet you in the common room,” I mutter as Professor Trelawney’s voice calls,  “Jamie Pendragon!”

The tower room is hotter than ever before; the curtains are closed, the fire is alight, and the usual sickly scent makes me cough as I stumble through the clutter of chairs and tables to where Professor Trelawney sits waiting for me before a large crystal ball.

“Good day, my dear,” she says softly. “If you would kindly gaze into the Orb. . . . Take your time, now . . . then tell me what you see within it. . . .”

I bend over the crystal ball and stare, stare as hard as I can, willing it to show me something other than swirling white fog, but nothing happens.

“Well?” Professor Trelawney prompts delicately. “What do you see?” I stare harder into the mist and let my imagination flow.

“I see the castle, but it’s not as big as it should be, it looks as if it is from above the ground. I can hear wind whistling around me, and I feel weightless. I look up, and see a creature above me.” I start still gazing into the ball allowing my eyes to glaze over.

“Ooh… can you see what the beast is?” Professor Trelawney asks leaning in closer to me.

“No… no only that the creature has talons and that they are digging into my shoulders.” I tell her.

“So you’re in danger then!” She declares. I glance up at her shortly to see the excited look on her face. Okay whatever makes her happy. I let a shiver roll through my body.

“Yes… I believe that. I don’t feel very well.” I say abruptly. I lurch to my feet a little dizzy not quite believing the shadow that I’ve seen in the crystal ball.

“Why yes dear, of course you are finished. I dare say that you will become a fabulous seer in the future.” Professor Trelawney tells me with a vacant smile.

I scurry back over to the trapdoor, and start down the ladder. As soon as I clear the landing, I let go of a shaky breath. Harry’s concerned gaze meets mine. “Its all a bunch of rubbish Harry.” I reassure him in a slightly shaking voice.

“Harry Potter!” She cries. I bid bye to Harry and make my way back up to the tower. I make it back to the common room and see Ron and Hermione huddled around a table both of them looking miserable.

“What happened?” I ask feeling the heavy feeling in my stomach increase tenfold.

“Buckbeak lost.” Hermione says her voice wobbling.

“That rat bastard Malfoy made it so that Hagrid never had a chance!” Ron growls. The three of us sit in heavy silence, Hermione and I sniffing every once in a while waiting for Harry to come back.

After a few minutes Harry comes hurrying into the common room, and over to us in the corner. “Professor Trelawney,” Harry pants, “just told me —”

But he stops abruptly at the sight of our faces. “Buckbeak lost,” says Ron weakly. “Hagrid’s just sent this.”

Hagrid’s note is dry this time, no tears have splattered it, yet his hand seems to have shaken so much as he wrote that it is hardly legible.

 

Lost appeal. They're going to execute at sunset.Nothing you can do. Don't come down. I don't wantyou to see it.

Hagrid

 

“We’ve got to go,” says Harry at once. “He can’t just sit there on his own, waiting for the executioner!”

“Sunset, though,” says Ron, who is staring out the window in a glazed sort of way. “We’d never be allowed . . . ’specially you, Harry. . . .”

Harry sinks his head into his hands. “Where is it?” says Hermione.

Harry tells us about leaving it in the passageway under the one-eyed witch.

“. . . if Snape sees me anywhere near there again, I’m in serious trouble,” he finishes.

“That’s true,” says Hermione, getting to her feet. “If he sees you. . . . How do you open the witch’s hump again?”

“You — you tap it and say, ‘Dissendium,’” says Harry. “But —”

Hermione doesn’t wait for the rest of his sentence; she strides across the room, pushes open the Fat Lady’s portrait and vanishes from sight.

“She hasn’t gone to get it?” Ron asks, staring after her. She has. Hermione returns a quarter of an hour later with the silvery Cloak folded carefully under her robes.

“Hermione, I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately!” I say, astounded. “First you hit Malfoy, then you walk out on Professor Trelawney —”

Hermione looked rather flattered, and the plan is set. We have to go and see Buckbeak and say goodbye.

* * *

 

We go down to dinner with everybody else, but do not return to Gryffindor Tower afterward. Harry has the Cloak hidden down the front of his robes; he has to keep his arms folded to hide the lump. We skulk in an empty chamber off the entrance hall, listening, until we are sure it is deserted. We hear a last pair of people hurrying across the hall and a door slamming. I pokes my head around the door.

“Okay,” I whisper, “no one there — Cloak on —”

Walking very close together so that nobody would see us, we cross the hall on tiptoe beneath the Cloak, then walk down the stone front steps into the grounds. The sun is already sinking behind the Forbidden Forest, gilding the top branches of the trees.

We reach Hagrid’s cabin and knock. He is a minute in answering, and when he does, he looks all around for his visitor, pale-faced and trembling.

“It’s us,” Harry hisses. “We’re wearing the Invisibility Cloak. Let us in and we can take it off.”

“Yeh shouldn’ve come!” Hagrid whispers, but he stands back, and they step inside. Hagrid shuts the door quickly and Harry pulls off the Cloak from us.

Hagrid is not crying, nor does he throw himself upon their necks. He looks like a man who does not know where he is or what to do. This helplessness is worse to watch than tears.

“Wan’ some tea?” he says. His great hands are shaking as he reaches for the kettle.

“Where’s Buckbeak, Hagrid?” says Hermione hesitantly.

“I — I took him outside,” says Hagrid, spilling milk all over the table as he fills up the jug. “He’s tethered in me pumpkin patch. Thought he oughta see the trees an’ — an’ smell fresh air — before —”

Hagrid’s hand trembles so violently that the milk jug slips from his grasp and shatters all over the floor.

“I’ll do it, Hagrid,” I say quickly, hurrying over and starting to clean up the mess. The guilt of my inability to help, is getting to me badly.

“There’s another one in the cupboard,” Hagrid says, sitting down and wiping his forehead on his sleeve. Harry glances at Ron, who looks back hopelessly.

“Isn’t there anything anyone can do, Hagrid?” Harry asks fiercely, sitting down next to him. “Dumbledore —”

“He’s tried,” says Hagrid. “He’s got no power ter overrule the Committee. He told ’em Buckbeak’s all right, but they’re scared. . . . Yeh know what Lucius Malfoy’s like . . . threatened ’em, I expect . . . an’ the executioner, Macnair, he’s an old pal o’ Malfoy’s . . . but it’ll be quick an’ clean . . . an’ I’ll be beside him. . . . ”

Hagrid swallows. His eyes are darting all over the cabin as though looking for some shred of hope or comfort.

“Dumbledore’s gonna come down while it — while it happens. Wrote me this mornin’. Said he wants ter — ter be with me. Great man, Dumbledore. . . .”

I come back from rummaging in Hagrid’s cupboard for another milk jug, let out a small, quickly stifled sob. I straighten up with the new jug in my hands, fighting back tears.

“We’ll stay with you too, Hagrid,” I begin, but Hagrid shakes his shaggy head.

“Yeh’re ter go back up ter the castle. I told yeh, I don’ wan’ yeh watchin’. An’ yeh shouldn’ be down here anyway. . . . If Fudge an’ Dumbledore catch yeh out without permission, Harry, yeh’ll be in big trouble.”

Silent tears are streaming down Hermione’s face, but she hides them from Hagrid coming to help me make tea. Then, as she picks up the milk bottle to pour some into the jug, she lets out a shriek. I whip my head around to where she’s standing next to me.

“Ron! I — I don’t believe it — it’s Scabbers!” Ron gapes at her. I can’t believe my eyes, it is the old fuzzball.

“What are you talking about?”

Hermione carries the milk jug over to the table and turns it upside down. With a frantic squeak, and much scrambling to get back inside, Scabbers the rat comes sliding out onto the table.

“Scabbers!” says Ron blankly. “Scabbers, what are you doing here?”

He grabs the struggling rat and holds him up to the light. Scabbers looks dreadful. He is thinner than ever; large tufts of hair have fallen out, leaving wide bald patches, and he writhes in Ron’s hands as though desperate to free himself.

“It’s okay, Scabbers!” says Ron. “No cats! There’s nothing here to hurt you!”

I can’t believe that that rat is still alive. This must be some sort of fricken miracle! Hagrid suddenly stands up, his eyes fixed on the window. His normally ruddy face has gone the color of parchment.

“They’re comin’. . . .”

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I whip around. A group of men are walking down the distant castle steps. In front is Albus Dumbledore, his silver beard gleaming in the dying sun. Next to him trots Cornelius Fudge. Behind them comes the feeble old Committee member and the executioner, Macnair.

“Yeh gotta go,” says Hagrid. Every inch of him is trembling. “They mustn’ find yeh here. . . . Go now. . . .”

Ron stuffs Scabbers into his pocket and Hermione picks up the Cloak. “I’ll let yeh out the back way,” says Hagrid.

We follow him to the door into his back garden. I feel strangely unreal, and even more so when I see Buckbeak a few yards away, tethered to a tree behind Hagrid’s pumpkin patch. Buckbeak seems to know something is happening. He turns his sharp head from side to side and paws the ground nervously.

“It’s okay, Beaky,” says Hagrid softly. “It’s okay . . .” He turns to Harry, Ron, Hermione, and me. “Go on,” he says. “Get goin’.”

But we don’t move.

“Hagrid, we can’t —” Ron says.

“We’ll tell them what really happened —” Harry starts.

“They can’t kill him —” Hermione cries.

“I’m sorry Hagrid.” I say tearfully.

“Go!” says Hagrid fiercely. “It’s bad enough without you lot in trouble an’ all!” We have no choice. As Hermione throws the Cloak over Harry, and me, we hear voices at the front of the cabin. Hagrid looks at the place where we have just vanished from sight.

“Go quick,” he says hoarsely. “Don’ listen. . . .” Oh Merlin! I force back a sob that wants to break through. This just isn’t right.

And he strides back into his cabin as someone knocks at the front door.

Slowly, in a kind of horrified trance, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I set off silently around Hagrid’s house. As they reach the other side, the front door closes with a sharp snap.

“Please, let’s hurry,” Hermione whispers. “I can’t stand it, I can’t bear it. . . .”

We start up the sloping lawn towards the castle. The sun is sinking fast now; the sky has turned to a clear, purple-tinged gray, but to the west there is a ruby-red glow.

Ron stops dead.

“Oh, please, Ron,” Hermione begins.

“It’s Scabbers — he won’t — stay put —” Ron is bent over, trying to keep Scabbers in his pocket, but the rat is going berserk; squeaking madly, twisting and flailing, trying to sink his teeth into Ron’s hand.

“Scabbers, it’s me, you idiot, it’s Ron,” Ron hisses.

“Sh! We need to stay quiet!” I hiss. We hear a door open behind us and men’s voices.

“Oh, Ron, please let’s move, they’re going to do it!” Hermione breathes.

“Okay — Scabbers, stay put —”

We walk forward; me, like Hermione, am trying not to listen to the rumble of voices behind us. Ron stops again.

“I can’t hold him — Scabbers, shut up, everyone’ll hear us —”

The rat is squealing wildly, but not loudly enough to cover up the sounds drifting from Hagrid’s garden. There is a jumble of indistinct male voices, a silence, and then, without warning, the unmistakable swish and thud of an axe.

Hermione swayed on the spot.

“They did it!” she whispers to Harry. “I d-don’t believe it — they did it!” I turn, and bury my face into Harry’s cloak beside me. Silent tears run down my face. This night just possibly can’t get any worse.


	15. Cat, Rat, and Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

Chapter 15- Cat, Rat, and Dog

 

My mind has gone blank with shock. The four of us stand transfixed with horror under the Invisibility Cloak. The very last rays of the setting sun are casting a bloody light over the long-shadowed grounds. Then, behind us, they hear a wild howling. A shiver runs down my spine. This is not going to be good.

“Hagrid,” Harry mutters. Without thinking about what he is doing, he makes to turn back, but Ron, Hermione, and I seize his arms.

“We can’t,” says Ron, who is paper-white. “He’ll be in worse trouble if they know we’ve been to see him. . . .”

Hermione’s breathing is shallow and uneven. “How — could — they?” she chokes. “How could they?”

“They’re low down slimy bribe taking gits, that’s how.” I growl through a voice choked with tears.

“Come on,” says Ron, whose teeth seem to be chattering.

We set off back towards the castle, walking slowly to keep ourselves hidden under the Cloak. The light is fading fast now. By the time we reach open ground, darkness is settling like a spell around us.

“Scabbers, keep still,” Ron hisses, clamping his hand over his chest. The rat is wriggling madly. Ron comes to a sudden halt, trying to force Scabbers deeper into his pocket. “What’s the matter with you, you stupid rat? Stay still — OUCH! He bit me!” Funny, Scabbers has never bit Ron before.

“Ron, be quiet!” Hermione whispers urgently. “Fudge’ll be out here in a minute —”

“He won’t — stay — put —” Scabbers is plainly terrified. He is writhing with all his might, trying to break free of Ron’s grip.

“What’s the matter with him?”

But I have just seen — slinking toward us, his body low to the ground, wide yellow eyes glinting eerily in the darkness — Crookshanks. Whether he can see us or is following the sound of Scabbers’s squeaks, I cann’t tell.

“Crookshanks!” Hermione moans. “No, go away, Crookshanks! Go away!”

But the cat was getting nearer —

“Scabbers — NO!” Too late — the rat has slipped between Ron’s clutching fingers, hit the ground, and scampers away. In one bound, Crookshanks springs after him, and before we can stop him, Ron has thrown the Invisibility Cloak off himself and pelts away into the darkness.

“Ron!” I moan.

Hermione, Harry, and I look at each other, then follow at a sprint; it is impossible to run full out under the Cloak; we pull it off and it streams behind us like a banner as we hurtle after Ron; we can hear his feet thundering along ahead and his shouts at Crookshanks.

“Get away from him — get away — Scabbers, come here —” There is a loud thud. “Gotcha! Get off, you stinking cat —”

I almost fall over Ron; we skidded to a stop right in front of him. He is sprawled on the ground, but Scabbers is back in his pocket; he has both hands held tight over the quivering lump.

“Maybe you should let him go Ron. He obviously doesn’t want to go back, and he is old you know.” I pant attempting to catch my breath after the sudden sprint that we had just partaken in.

“Ron — come on — back under the cloak —” Hermione pants. “Dumbledore — the Minister — they’ll be coming back out in a minute —”

But before we can cover ourselves again, before we can even catch our breath, we hear the soft pounding of gigantic paws. . . . Something is bounding toward us out of the dark — an enormous, pale-eyed, jet-black dog. Oh Merlin this is so not good. I shouldn’t have thought that this could get any worse.

Harry reaches for his wand, but too late — the dog has made an enormous leap and the front paws hit him on the chest; he keels over backwards in a whirl of hair; he feels its hot breath, sees inch-long teeth —

But the force of its leap has carried it too far; it rolls off him. Dazed, Harry tries to stand up; we can hear it growling as it skids around for a new attack.

Ron is on his feet. As the dog springs back toward them he pushes Harry aside; the dog’s jaws fasten instead around Ron’s outstretched arm. I lunge forward, and seize a handful of the brute’s hair, but it is dragging Ron away as easily as though he is a rag doll —

No one can take my friend not when I have something to say about it. Then, out of nowhere, something hits me so hard across the face I am knocked off my feet again. I hit the ground hard with a crack of my head. I groan painfully as I heard Hermione and Harry cry out in pain and fall to the ground as well.

I groped for my wand, blinking blood out of my eyes. I seriously don’t feel that good.

“Lumos!” I whisper. I think that I can hear Harry saying the same thing, and the sudden brightness causes me to wince and the headache that I now have to triple in size. I let out another groan of pain.

The wandlight shows me the trunk of a thick tree; we have chased Scabbers into the shadow of the Whomping Willow and its branches are creaking as though in a high wind, whipping backward and forward to stop us going nearer.

And there, at the base of the trunk, is the dog, dragging Ron backwards into a large gap in the roots — Ron is fighting furiously, but his head and torso are slipping out of sight —

“Ron!” Harry shouts, trying to follow, but a heavy branch whips lethally through the air and he is forced backward again. I manage to scramble to my feet unsteadily and over to Hermione, who grabs me by the arm to keep me upright.

All we can see now is one of Ron’s legs, which he has hooked around a root in an effort to stop the dog from pulling him farther underground — but a horrible crack cuts the air like a gunshot; Ron’s leg has broken, and a moment later, his foot vanishes from sight.

No… we can’t let this happen! “Harry — we’ve got to go for help —” Hermione gasps; she is bleeding too; the Willow has cut her across the shoulder. I stumble from my spot beside her. The ground is not supposed to be rolling.

“No! That thing’s big enough to eat him; we haven’t got time —” Harry yells.

“We’re never going to get through without help —” Hermione cries, making me wince from how loud she is.

Another branch whips down at us, twigs clenched like knuckles. “If that dog can get in, we can,” Harry pants, darting here and there, trying to find a way through the vicious, swishing branches, but he can’t get an inch nearer to the tree roots without being in range of the tree’s blows.

We’re never going to get Ron back at this rate, and I fear that I may be sick. “Oh, help, help,” Hermione whispers frantically, dancing uncertainly on the spot her grip on me tightening, “please . . .”

Crookshanks darts forward. He slithers between the battering branches like a snake and places his front paws upon a knot on the trunk.

Abruptly, as though the tree has been turned to marble, it stops moving. Not a leaf twitches or shakes.

“Crookshanks!” Hermione whispers uncertainly. She now grasps Harry’s arm painfully hard as well. “How did he know — ?”

“He’s friends with that dog,” saus Harry grimly. “I’ve seen them together. Come on — and keep your wand out —”

“I think I may be sick…” I mutter queasily. Harry and Hermione glance at me worriedly. Hermione rips off a piece of her shirt and pushes it against the seeping gash on my head. I wince it pain.

“We need to rescue Ron. We can get Jamie help after we’re done. If we go to Madam Pomfrey now they’ll never let us back out and we need to all be here to fight this thing.” Harry says quickly staunching any arguments that Hermione could have come up with about splitting up.

Hermione gives Harry and cross look but sighs anyway. They cover the distance to the trunk in seconds, but before we have reached the gap in the roots, Crookshanks has slid into it with a flick of his bottlebrush tail. Harry goes next; he crawls forward, headfirst, and slides down an earthy slope to the bottom of a very low tunnel. Hermione and I follow, though the slide makes my head spin more. Crookshanks is a little way along, his eyes flashing in the light from Harry’s wand. Seconds later, Hermione slithers down beside us.

“Where’s Ron?” I whisper in a terrified voice.

“This way,” says Harry, setting off, bent-backed, after Crookshanks.

“Where does this tunnel come out?” Hermione asks breathlessly from behind us.

“I don’t know. . . . It’s marked on the Marauder’s Map but Fred and George said no one’s ever gotten into it. . . . It goes off the edge of the map, but it looked like it ends up in Hogsmeade. . . .”

We move as fast as we can, bent almost double; ahead of us, Crookshanks’s tail bobs in and out of view. On and on goes the passage; it feels at least as long as the one to Honeydukes. . . . All I can think of wis Ron and what the enormous dog might be doing to him and the pain in my head. . . . I am drawing breath in sharp, painful gasps, running at a crouch. . . .

And then the tunnel begins to rise; moments later it twists, and Crookshanks has gone. Instead, I can see a patch of dim light through a small opening. Where on earth are we? I grab Hermione again before I fall.

We pause, gasping for breath, edging forward. All three of us raise our wands to see what lies beyond.

It is a room, a very disordered, dusty room. Paper is peeling from the walls; there are stains all over the floor; every piece of furniture is broken as though somebody has smashed it. The windows are all boarded up. Strange, but I think that I may know where we are.

Harry glances at Hermione, and gives me a frightened look but nods. Harry pulls himself out of the hole, staring around. The room is deserted, but a door to our right stands open, leading to a shadowy hallway. Hermione suddenly grabs Harry’s arm again. Her wide eyes are traveling around the boarded windows.

“Harry,” she whispers, “I think we’re in the Shrieking Shack.”

I look around. My eyes fall on a wooden chair near us. Large chunks have been torn out of it; one of the legs has been ripped off entirely.

“Ghosts didn’t do that,” I say slowly.

At that moment, there is a creak overhead. Something has moved upstairs. The three of us look up at the ceiling. Hermione’s grip on my arm is so tight I am losing feeling in his fingers, but its keeping me alert. Harry raises his eyebrows at us; we nod again and let go.

Quietly as we can, we creep out into the hall and up the crumbling staircase. Everything is covered in a thick layer of dust except the floor, where a wide shiny stripe has been made by something being dragged upstairs. Oh Merlin no, this is the start of every wizard horror story that I’ve ever heard. We’re going to follow the trail to Ron, and then we’re all going to die!

I had so much that I wanted to do with my life! We reach the dark landing. “Nox,” we whisper together, and the lights at the end of our wands go out. Only one door is open. As we creep towards it, we hear movement from behind it; a low moan, and then a deep, loud purring. We exchanged a last look, a last nod.

Wand held tightly before him, Harry kicks the door wide open. On a magnificent four-poster bed with dusty hangings lay Crookshanks, purring loudly at the sight of us. On the floor beside him, clutching his leg, which sticks out at a strange angle, is Ron. Thank Merlin he’s all right! I don’t know what I’d do without him, even at the times when he is being a gigantic prat!

Harry and Hermione dash across to him, while I take my time staggering over so that I don’t fall. “Ron — are you okay?”

“Where’s the dog?” Harry asks.

“Not a dog,” Ron moans. His teeth are gritted with pain. “Harry, it’s a trap —”

“What —”

“He’s the dog . . . he’s an Animagus. . . .” Ron is staring over Harry’s shoulder. We wheel around. With a snap, the man in the shadows closes the door behind us.

A mass of filthy, matted hair hangs to his elbows. If eyes haven’t been shining out of the deep, dark sockets, he may be a corpse. The waxy skin is stretched so tightly over the bones of his face, it looks like a skull. His yellow teeth are bared in a grin. It is Sirius Black. I am terrified. With my impaired coordination and sheer fright, I fall to the floor next to Ron is a bloody daze.

I start shaking in shock and intense fear. It’s him… I can’t believe that it’s him again! This can’t be happening… no, no, no. “Expelliarmus!” he croaks, pointing Ron’s wand at us.

Harry, Hermione’s, and my wands shoot out of our hands, high in the air, and Black catches them. Then he takes a step closer. His eyes are fixed on Harry. This is bad, really bad!

“I thought you’d come and help your friend,” he says hoarsely. His voice sounds as though he has long since lost the habit of using it. “Your father would have done the same for me. Brave of you, not to run for a teacher. I’m grateful . . . it will make everything much easier. . . .”

At that I just shut down. The fear is the only thing controlling me now. Hermione inches closer to me and Ron with a worried look on her face. Without knowing what he is doing, Harry starts forward, but there is a sudden movement on either side of him and two pairs of hands grab him and hold him back. . . . “No, Harry!” Hermione gasps in a petrified whisper; Ron, however, speaks to Black.

“If you want to kill Harry, you’ll have to kill us too!” he says fiercely, though the effort of standing upright is draining him of still more color, and he sways slightly as he speaks.

Something flickers in Black’s shadowed eyes. “Lie down,” he says quietly to Ron. “You will damage that leg even more. And the girl over there is so injured that she wouldn’t be able to help you out anyway.” Black says.

“Did you hear me?” Ron says weakly, though he is clinging painfully to Harry to stay upright. “You’ll have to kill all four of us!”

“There’ll be only one murder here tonight,” says Black, and his grin widens.

“Why’s that?” Harry spits, trying to wrench himself free of Ron and Hermione.  “Didn’t care last time, did you? Didn’t mind slaughtering all those Muggles to get at Pettigrew. . . . What’s the matter, gone soft in Azkaban?”

“Harry!” Hermione whimpers. “Be quiet!”

“HE KILLED MY MUM AND DAD!” Harry roars, and with a huge effort he breaks free of Hermione’s and Ron’s restraint and lunges forward —

Perhaps it is the shock of Harry doing something so stupid, but Black doesn’t raise the wands in time — one of Harry’s hands fastens over his wasted wrist, forcing the wand tips away; the knuckles of Harry’s other hand collide with the side of Black’s head and they fall, backward, into the wall —

Hermione is screaming; Ron is yelling; there is a blinding flash as the wands in Black’s hand send a jet of sparks into the air that miss Harry’s face by inches; Harry punches every inch of Black that he can reach.

But Black’s free hand has found Harry’s throat —

“No,” he hissed, “I’ve waited too long —”

The fingers tighten, Harry chokes, his glasses askew. Then he sees Hermione’s foot swing out of nowhere. Black lets go of Harry with a grunt of pain; Ron has thrown himself on Black’s wand hand and Harry hears a faint clatter —

He fights free of the tangle of bodies and sees his own wand rolling across the floor; he throws himself toward it but —

“Argh!” Crookshanks has joined the fray; both sets of front claws have sunk themselves deep into Harry’s arm; Harry throws him off, but Crookshanks now darts toward Harry’s wand —

“NO YOU DON’T!” roars Harry, and he aims a kick at Crookshanks that makes the cat leap aside, spitting; Harry snatches up his wand and turns —

“Get out of the way!” he shouts at Ron and Hermione. Meanwhile I’m attempting to fight my way out of my fear induced comatose state, but the pull of being numb to everything going on is strong.

They don’t need telling twice. Hermione, gasping for breath, her lip bleeding, scrambles aside, snatching up her and Ron’s wands. Ron crawls to the four-poster and collapses onto it, panting, his white face now tinged with green, both hands clutching his broken leg.

Black is sprawled at the bottom of the wall. His thin chest rises and falls rapidly as he watches Harry walking slowly nearer, his wand pointing straight at Black’s heart.

“Going to kill me, Harry?” he whispers. Harry stops right above him, his wand still pointing at Black’s chest, looking down at him. A livid bruise is rising around Black’s left eye and his nose is bleeding.

“You killed my parents,” says Harry, his voice shaking slightly, but his wand hand quite steady.

Black stares up at him out of those sunken eyes. “I don’t deny it,” he says very quietly. “But if you knew the whole story —”

“The whole story?” Harry repeats, a furious pounding in his ears. “You sold them to Voldemort. That’s all I need to know.”

“You’ve got to listen to me,” Black says, and there is a note of urgency in his voice now. “You’ll regret it if you don’t. . . . You don’t understand. . . .”

“I understand a lot better than you think,” says Harry, and his voice shakes more than ever. “You never heard her, did you? My mum . . . trying to stop Voldemort killing me . . . and you did that . . . you did it. . . .”

“Harry… you may want to listen to him. If not then you’ll never know what happened that night. B-Besides… h-he didn’t kill me that night when he h-ha the chance to.” I finally manage to stutter from my catatonia.

Before any of us can say another word, something ginger streaks past Harry; Crookshanks leaps onto Black’s chest and settles himself there, right over Black’s heart. Black blinks and looks down at the cat.

“Get off,” he murmurs, trying to push Crookshanks off him. How odd? But Crookshanks sinks his claws into Black’s robes and won’t shift. He turns his ugly, squashed face to Harry and looks up at him with those great yellow eyes. To his right, Hermione gives a dry sob.

I can see it in the look in Harry’s eyes and the way that he raises his wand up. He’s going to kill Black. I shiver in fright of what is going on and what is going to happen. How did I wake up in this nightmare today?

The seconds lengthen. And still Harry stands frozen there, wand poised, Black staring up at him, Crookshanks on his chest. Ron’s ragged breathing comes from the bed; Hermione is quite silent.

And then comes a new sound —

Muffled footsteps are echoing up through the floor — someone is moving downstairs.

“WE’RE UP HERE!” Hermione screams suddenly. “WE’RE UP HERE — SIRIUS BLACK — QUICK!” The scream is enough to jolt me from my state again, only to have the pain, nausea, and fear hit me all at once again, and send me back under.

The door of the room bursts open in a shower of red sparks and Harry wheels around as Professor Lupin comes hurtling into the room, his face bloodless, his wand raised and ready. His eyes flicker over Ron, lying on the floor, over Hermione, cowering next to the door, to Harry, standing there with his wand covering Black, to me frozen on the ground bloody, and then to Black himself, crumpled and bleeding at Harry’s feet.

“Expelliarmus!” Lupin shouts. Harry’s wand flies once more out of his hand; so does the two Hermione is holding. Lupin catches them all deftly, then moves into the room, staring at Black, who still has Crookshanks lying protectively across his chest.

Then Lupin speaks in an odd voice, a voice that shakes with some suppressed emotion.

“Where is he, Sirius?” Lupin asks. Black’s face is quite expressionless. For a few seconds, he doesn’t move at all. Then, very slowly, he raises his empty hand and points straight at Ron.

“But then . . . ,” Lupin mutters, staring at Black so intently it seems he is trying to read his mind, “. . . why hasn’t he shown himself before now? Unless” — Lupin’s eyes suddenly widen, as though he is seeing something beyond Black, something none of the rest could see — “unless he was the one . . . unless you switched . . . without telling me?”

Very slowly, his sunken gaze never leaving Lupin’s face, Black nods. “Professor,” Harry interrupts loudly, “what’s going on — ?”

Lupin is lowering his wand, gazing fixedly at Black. The professor walks to Black’s side, seizes his hand, pulls him to his feet so that Crookshanks falls to the floor, and embraces Black like a brother.

I feel as though the bottom has dropped out of my stomach as I come out of shock once more at the sight.

“I DON’T BELIEVE IT!” Hermione screams. Lupin lets go of Black and turns to her. She has raised herself off the floor and is pointing at Lupin, wild-eyed. “You — you —”

“Hermione —”

“— you and him!”

“Hermione, calm down —”

“I didn’t tell anyone!” Hermione shrieks. “I’ve been covering up for you —”

“Hermione, listen to me, please!” Lupin shouts. “I can explain —”

“I trusted you,” Harry shouts at Lupin, his voice wavering out of control, “and all the time you’ve been his friend!”

“You’re wrong,” says Lupin. “I haven’t been Sirius’s friend, but I am now — Let me explain. . . .”

“NO!” Hermione screams. “Harry, don’t trust him, he’s been helping Black get into the castle, he wants you dead too — he’s a werewolf!”

There is a ringing silence. Everyone’s eyes are now on Lupin, who looks remarkably calm, though rather pale.

“Not at all up to your usual standard, Hermione,” he says. “Only one out of three, I’m afraid. I have not been helping Sirius get into the castle and I certainly don’t want Harry dead. . . .” An odd shiver passes over his face. “But I won’t deny that I am a werewolf.”

Ron makes a valiant effort to get up again but falls back with a whimper of pain. Lupin makes toward him, looking concerned, but Ron gasps, “Get away from me, werewolf!”

Lupin stops dead. Then, with an obvious effort, he turns to Hermione and says, “How long have you known?”

“Ages,” Hermione whispers. “Since I did Professor Snape’s essay. . . .”

“He’ll be delighted,” says Lupin coolly. “He assigned that essay hoping someone would realize what my symptoms meant. . . . Did you check the lunar chart and realize that I was always ill at the full moon? Or did you realize that the boggart changed into the moon when it saw me?”

“Both,” Hermione says quietly. Lupin forces a laugh.

“You’re the cleverest witch of your age I’ve ever met, Hermione.”

“I’m not,” Hermione whispers. “If I’d been a bit cleverer, I’d have told everyone what you are!”

“But they already know,” says Lupin. “At least, the staff do.”

“Dumbledore hired you when he knew you were a werewolf?” Ron gasps. “Is he mad?”

“Some of the staff thought so,” says Lupin. “He had to work very hard to convince certain teachers that I’m trustworthy —”

“AND HE WAS WRONG!” Harry yells. “YOU’VE BEEN HELPING HIM ALL THE TIME!” He is pointing at Black, who suddenly crosses to the four-poster bed and sinks onto it, his face hidden in one shaking hand. Crookshanks leaps up beside him and steps onto his lap, purring. Ron edges away from both of them, dragging his leg.

“I have not been helping Sirius,” says Lupin. “If you’ll give me a chance, I’ll explain. Look —”

He separates Harry’s, Ron’s, Hermione’s, and my wands and throws each back to its owner; Harry catches his, stunned, and mine lands in my lap. Lupin shoots me a worried glance.  

“There,” says Lupin, sticking his own wand back into his belt. “You’re armed, we’re not. Now will you listen?”

“If you haven’t been helping him,” Harry says, with a furious glance at Black, “how did you know he was here?”

“The map,” says Lupin. “The Marauder’s Map. I was in my office examining it —”

“You know how to work it?” Harry says suspiciously.

“Of course I know how to work it,” says Lupin, waving his hand impatiently. “I helped write it. I’m Moony — that was my friends’ nickname for me at school.”

“You wrote — ?”

“The important thing is, I was watching it carefully this evening, because I had an idea that you, Ron, Hermione, and Jamie might try and sneak out of the castle to visit Hagrid before his hippogriff was executed. And I was right, wasn’t I?”

He has started to pace up and down, looking at us. Little patches of dust rise at his feet. “You might have been wearing your father’s old Cloak, Harry —”

“How d’you know about the Cloak?”

“The number of times I saw James disappearing under it . . . ,” says Lupin, waving an impatient hand again. “The point is, even if you’re wearing an Invisibility Cloak, you still show up on the Marauder’s Map. I watched you cross the grounds and enter Hagrid’s hut. Twenty minutes later, you left Hagrid, and set off back toward the castle. But you were now accompanied by somebody else.”

“What?” says Harry. “No, we weren’t!”

“I couldn’t believe my eyes,” says Lupin, still pacing, and ignoring Harry’s interruption. “I thought the map must be malfunctioning. How could he be with you?”

“No one was with us!” says Harry.

“And then I saw another dot, moving fast toward you, labeled Sirius Black. . . . I saw him collide with you; I watched as he pulled two of you into the Whomping Willow —”

“One of us!” Ron says angrily.

“No, Ron,” says Lupin. “Two of you.” He has stopped his pacing, his eyes moving over Ron.

“Do you think I could have a look at the rat?” he says evenly.

“What?” says Ron. “What’s Scabbers got to do with it?”

“Everything,” says Lupin. “Could I see him, please?” Ron hesitates, then puts a hand inside his robes. Scabbers emerges, thrashing desperately; Ron has to seize his long bald tail to stop him escaping. Crookshanks stands up on Black’s leg and makes a soft hissing noise.

Lupin moves closer to Ron. He seems to be holding his breath as he gazes intently at Scabbers.

“What?” Ron says again, holding Scabbers close to him, looking scared. “What’s my rat got to do with anything?”

“That’s not a rat,” croaks Sirius Black suddenly.

“What d’you mean — of course he’s a rat —”

“No, he’s not,” says Lupin quietly. “He’s a wizard.”

“An Animagus,” says Black, “by the name of Peter Pettigrew.” I jolt out of my fog, and ignore the sharp stab of pain that slices through my head. Wait a minute, a man has risen from the dead, and been reincarnated as a rat? What have I gotten myself into?


	16. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, & Prongs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

Chapter 16- Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, & Prongs

 

It takes a few seconds for the absurdity of this statement to sink in. Then Ron voices what we are all thinking. “You’re both mental.”

“Ridiculous!” says Hermione faintly.

“Messing with life and death is nothing to trifle with.” I comment unsurely. Hermione glances at me, and comes over to stand beside me, raising the bloody cloth to my head again which, is still bleeding unfortunately.

“Peter Pettigrew’s dead!” says Harry. “He killed him twelve years ago!” He points at Black, whose face twitches convulsively.

“I meant to,” he growls, his yellow teeth bared, “but little Peter got the better of me ... not this time, though!”

And Crookshanks is thrown to the floor as Black lunges at Scabbers; Ron yells with pain as Black’s weight falls on his broken leg.

“Stop it!” I shout finally starting to feel a little bit like myself again. Terrified but still capable of thought and speech.

“Sirius, NO!” Lupin yells, launching himself forwards and dragging Black away from Ron again. “WAIT! You can’t do it just like that — they need to understand — we’ve got to explain —”

“We can explain afterwards!” snarls Black, trying to throw Lupin off. One hand is still clawing the air as it tries to reach Scabbers, who is squealing like a piglet, scratching Ron’s face and neck as he tries to escape. That rat seriously is having a bad night.

“They’ve — got — a — right — to — know — everything!” Lupin pants, still trying to restrain Black. “Ron’s kept him as a pet! There are parts of it even I don’t understand! And Harry — you owe Harry the truth, Sirius!” This is interesting.

Black stops struggling, though his hollow eyes are still fixed on Scabbers, who is clamped tightly under Ron’s bitten, scratched, and bleeding hands.

“All right, then,” Black says, without taking his eyes off the rat. “Tell them whatever you like. But make it quick, Remus. I want to commit the murder I was imprisoned for. . . .”

“You’re nutters, both of you,” says Ron shakily, looking round at Harry, Hermione, and I for support. “I’ve had enough of this. I’m off.”

He tries to heave himself up on his good leg, but Lupin raises his wand again, pointing it at Scabbers. This isn’t going to end well.

“You’re going to hear me out, Ron,” he says quietly. “Just keep a tight hold on Peter while you listen.”

“HE’S NOT PETER, HE’S SCABBERS!” Ron yells, trying to force the rat back into his front pocket, but Scabbers is fighting too hard; Ron sways and overbalances, and Harry catches him and pushes him back down to the bed. Then, ignoring Black, Harry turns to Lupin.

“There were witnesses who saw Pettigrew die,” he says. “A whole street full of them . . .”

“They didn’t see what they thought they saw!” says Black savagely, still watching Scabbers struggling in Ron’s hands. For a simple old rat Scabbers sure seems to sense that something is going on and its focused on him. Maybe there’s something to this claim.

“Everyone thought Sirius killed Peter,” says Lupin, nodding. “I believed it myself — until I saw the map tonight. Because the Marauder’s Map never lies . . . Peter’s alive. Ron’s holding him, Harry.”

We look down at Ron. Then Hermione speaks, in a trembling, would-be calm sort of voice, as though trying to will Professor Lupin to talk sensibly.

“But Professor Lupin . . . Scabbers can’t be Pettigrew . . . it just can’t be true, you know it can’t . . .”

“Why can’t it be true?” Lupin says calmly, as though we are in class, and Hermione has simply spotted a problem in an experiment with grindylows.

“Because . . . because people would know if Peter Pettigrew had been an Animagus. We did Animagi in class with Professor McGonagall. And I looked them up when I did my homework — the Ministry of Magic keeps tabs on witches and wizards who can become animals; there’s a register showing what animal they become, and their markings and things . . . and I went and looked Professor McGonagall up on the register, and there have been only seven Animagi this century, and Pettigrew’s name wasn’t on the list —”

Wow I still don’t know how Hermione can hold all this knowledge in her head. I have barely had time to marvel inwardly at the effort Hermione puts into her homework, when Lupin starts to laugh.

“Right again, Hermione!” he says. “But the Ministry never knew that there used to be three unregistered Animagi running around Hogwarts.”

“If you’re going to tell them the story, get a move on, Remus,” snarls Black, who is still watching Scabbers’s every desperate move. “I’ve waited twelve years, I’m not going to wait much longer.”

“All right . . . but you’ll need to help me, Sirius,” says Lupin, “I only know how it began . . .”

Lupin breaks off. There is a loud creak behind us. The bedroom door has opened of its own accord. All five of us star at it. Then Lupin strides towards it and looks out into the landing.

“No one there . . .”

“This place is haunted!” says Ron.

“It’s not,” says Lupin, still looking at the door in a puzzled way. “The Shrieking Shack was never haunted. . . . The screams and howls the villagers used to hear were made by me.”

He pushes his graying hair out of his eyes, thinks for a moment, then says, “That’s where all of this starts — with my becoming a werewolf. None of this could have happened if I hadn’t been bitten . . . and if I hadn’t been so foolhardy. . . .”

He looks sober and tired. Ron starts to interrupt, but Hermione says, “Shh!” She is watching Lupin very intently.

“I was a very small boy when I received the bite. My parents tried everything, but in those days there was no cure. The potion that Professor Snape has been making for me is a very recent discovery. It makes me safe, you see. As long as I take it in the week preceding the full moon, I keep my mind when I transform. . . . I am able to curl up in my office, a harmless wolf, and wait for the moon to wane again.”

“Before the Wolfsbane Potion was discovered, however, I became a fully fledged monster once a month. It seemed impossible that I would be able to come to Hogwarts. Other parents weren’t likely to want their children exposed to me.”

“But then Dumbledore became headmaster, and he was sympathetic. He said that as long as we took certain precautions, there was no reason I shouldn’t come to school. . . .” Lupin sighs, and looks directly at Harry. “I told you, months ago, that the Whomping Willow was planted the year I came to Hogwarts. The truth is that it was planted because I came to Hogwarts. This house” — Lupin looks miserably around the room — “the tunnel that leads to it — they were built for my use. Once a month, I was smuggled out of the castle, into this place, to transform. The tree was placed at the tunnel mouth to stop anyone coming across me while I was dangerous.”

“The life of a werewolf is never easy. The inflicted are hunted, persecuted, and treated like second-class wizards. It’s not right but it’s the way the law is now. Someday we will change it.” I say mostly to myself but apparently Lupin is listening.

“Right you are Jamie. I thank you for being an idealist when one such as myself cannot be.” He tells me softly focusing his gaze back onto Harry.

“My transformations in those days were — were terrible. It is very painful to turn into a werewolf. I was separated from humans to bite, so I bit and scratched myself instead. The villagers heard the noise and the screaming and thought they were hearing particularly violent spirits. Dumbledore encouraged the rumor. . . . Even now, when the house has been silent for years, the villagers don’t dare approach it. . . .”

“But apart from my transformations, I was happier than I had ever been in my life. For the first time ever, I had friends, three great friends. Sirius Black . . . Peter Pettigrew . . . and, of course, your father, Harry — James Potter.”

“Now, my three friends could hardly fail to notice that I disappeared once a month. I made up all sorts of stories. I told them my mother was ill, and that I had to go home to see her. . . . I was terrified they would desert me the moment they found out what I was. But of course, they, like you, Hermione, worked out the truth. . . .”

“And they didn’t desert me at all. Instead, they did something for me that would make my transformations not only bearable, but the best times of my life. They became Animagi.”

“My dad too?” says Harry, astounded.

“Yes, indeed,” says Lupin. “It took them the best part of three years to work out how to do it. Your father and Sirius here were the cleverest students in the school, and lucky they were, because the Animagus transformation can go horribly wrong — one reason the Ministry keeps a close watch on those attempting to do it. Peter needed all the help he could get from James and Sirius. Finally, in our fifth year, they managed it. They could each turn into a different animal at will.”

That is probably one of the sweetest things I’ve ever heard, not to mention one of the coolest.

“But how did that help you?” I ask still puzzled.

“They couldn’t keep me company as humans, so they kept me company as animals,” says Lupin. “A werewolf is only a danger to people. They sneaked out of the castle every month under James’s Invisibility Cloak. They transformed . . . Peter, as the smallest, could slip beneath the Willow’s attacking branches and touch the knot that freezes it. They would then slip down the tunnel and join me. Under their influence, I became less dangerous. My body was still wolfish, but my mind seemed to become less so while I was with them.”

“Hurry up, Remus,” snarls Black, who is still watching Scabbers with a horrible sort of hunger on his face. If this story is anyway true then I will feel bad for the poor man. To be sentenced and locked away for a crime you did not commit must be dreadful.

“I’m getting there, Sirius, I’m getting there . . . well, highly exciting possibilities were open to us now that we could all transform. Soon we were leaving the Shrieking Shack and roaming the school grounds and the village by night. Sirius and James transformed into such large animals, they were able to keep a werewolf in check. I doubt whether any Hogwarts students ever found out more about the Hogwarts grounds and Hogsmeade than we did. . . . And that’s how we came to write the Marauder’s Map, and sign it with our nicknames. Sirius is Padfoot. Peter is Wormtail. James was Prongs.”

“What sort of animal — ?” Harry begins, but Hermione cuts him off.

“That was still really dangerous! Running around in the dark with a werewolf! What if you’d given the others the slip, and bitten somebody?”

Oh well that is definitely a downside to this story, if there ever is one. “A thought that still haunts me,” says Lupin heavily. “And there were near misses, many of them. We laughed about them afterwards. We were young, thoughtless — carried away with our own cleverness.”

“I sometimes felt guilty about betraying Dumbledore’s trust, of course . . . he had admitted me to Hogwarts when no other headmaster would have done so, and he had no idea I was breaking the rules he had set down for my own and others’ safety. He never knew I had led three fellow students into becoming Animagi illegally. But I always managed to forget my guilty feelings every time we sat down to plan our next month’s adventure. And I haven’t changed. . . .”

Lupin’s face has hardened, and there is self-disgust in his voice. “All this year, I have been battling with myself, wondering whether I should tell Dumbledore that Sirius was an Animagus. But I didn’t do it. Why? Because I was too cowardly. It would have meant admitting that I’d betrayed his trust while I was at school, admitting that I’d led others along with me . . . and Dumbledore’s trust has meant everything to me. He let me into Hogwarts as a boy, and he gave me a job when I have been shunned all my adult life, unable to find paid work because of what I am. And so I convinced myself that Sirius was getting into the school using Dark Arts he learned from Voldemort, that being an Animagus had nothing to do with it . . . so, in a way, Snape’s been right about me all along.”

“Snape?” says Black harshly, taking his eyes off Scabbers for the first time in minutes and looking up at Lupin. “What’s Snape got to do with it?” Oh so there is some sort of rivalry between the lot of them. I guess that Kingsley was wrong when he said that school time rivalries would end once we become adults.

“He’s here, Sirius,” says Lupin heavily. “He’s teaching here as well.” He looks up at Harry, Ron, Hermione, and me.

“Professor Snape was at school with us. He fought very hard against my appointment to the Defense Against the Dark Arts job. He has been telling Dumbledore all year that I am not to be trusted. He has his reasons . . . you see, Sirius here played a trick on him which nearly killed him, a trick which involved me —”

Black makes a derisive noise. “It served him right,” he sneers. “Sneaking around, trying to find out what we were up to . . . hoping he could get us expelled. . . .”

Wow no of blood loss between them.

“Severus was very interested in where I went every month,” Lupin tells us. “We were in the same year, you know, and we — er — didn’t like each other very much. He especially disliked James. Jealous, I think, of James’s talent on the Quidditch field . . . anyway, Snape had seen me crossing the grounds with Madam Pomfrey one evening as she led me toward the Whomping Willow to transform. Sirius thought it would be — er — amusing, to tell Snape all he had to do was prod the knot on the tree trunk with a long stick, and he’d be able to get in after me. Well, of course, Snape tried it — if he’d got as far as this house, he’d have met a fully grown werewolf — but your father, who’d heard what Sirius had done, went after Snape and pulled him back, at great risk to his life . . . Snape glimpsed me, though, at the end of the tunnel. He was forbidden by Dumbledore to tell anybody, but from that time on he knew what I was. . . .”

“So that’s why Snape doesn’t like you,” I say slowly, “because he thought you were in on the joke?”

“That’s right,” sneers a cold voice from the wall behind Lupin. Severus Snape is pulling off the Invisibility Cloak, his wand pointing directly at Lupin. Oh Merlin, this looks like its going to be an interesting night.

“Hello professor what brings you out to a sketchy shack on a night like this?” I stutter attempting humor to break the tension in the room.


	17. The Servant of Lord Voldemort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

Chapter 17- The Servant of Lord Voldemort

 

Hermione screams. Black leaps to his feet. I jump as though I’ve received a huge electric shock. Okay people have got to stop doing that tonight! My nerves are shot as is!

“I found this at the base of the Whomping Willow,” says Snape, throwing the Cloak aside, careful to keep his wand pointing directly at Lupin’s chest. “Very useful, Potter, I thank you. . . .”

Snape is slightly breathless, but his face is full of suppressed triumph. “You’re wondering, perhaps, how I knew you were here?” he says, his eyes glittering. “I’ve just been to your office, Lupin. You forgot to take your potion tonight, so I took a gobletful along. And very lucky I did . . . lucky for me, I mean. Lying on your desk was a certain map. One glance at it told me all I needed to know. I saw you running along this passageway and out of sight.”

I look at Lupin and moan quietly. I thought that professors were supposed to be smart? “Severus —” Lupin begins, but Snape overides him.

“I’ve told the headmaster again and again that you’re helping your old friend Black into the castle, Lupin, and here’s the proof. Not even I dreamed you would have the nerve to use this old place as your hideout —”

“Severus, you’re making a mistake,” says Lupin urgently. “You haven’t heard everything — I can explain — Sirius is not here to kill Harry —”

“Two more for Azkaban tonight,” says Snape, his eyes now gleaming fanatically. “I shall be interested to see how Dumbledore takes this. . . . He was quite convinced you were harmless, you know, Lupin . . . a tame werewolf —” I tighten my hands into fists hearing how gleeful the dungeon bat is about all this. He’s still this petty after all this time.

“You fool,” says Lupin softly. “Is a schoolboy grudge worth putting an innocent man back inside Azkaban?”

BANG! Thin, snakelike cords burst from the end of Snape’s wand and twist themselves around Lupin’s mouth, wrists, and ankles; he overbalances and falls to the floor, unable to move. With a roar of rage, Black starts toward Snape, but Snape points his wand straight between Black’s eyes.

“Give me a reason,” he whispers. “Give me a reason to do it, and I swear I will.”

Black stops dead. It is impossible to say which face shows more hatred.

Harry stands there, paralyzed, and I’m not sure what to do. I glance around at Ron and Hermione. Ron looks just as confused as I am, still fighting to keep hold on the struggling Scabbers. Hermione, however, takes an uncertain step towards Snape and says, in a very breathless voice, “Professor Snape — it — it wouldn’t hurt to hear what they’ve got to say, w-would it?”

“Miss Granger, you are already facing suspension from this school,” Snape spits.  “You, Potter, Weasley, and Pendragon are out-of-bounds, in the company of a convicted murderer and a werewolf. For once in your life, hold your tongue.”

I grit my teeth at the vile man. “But if — if there was a mistake —” Hermione starts.

“KEEP QUIET, YOU STUPID GIRL!” Snape shouts, looking suddenly quite deranged. “DON’T TALK ABOUT WHAT YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND!” A few sparks shoot out of the end of his wand, which is still pointed at Black’s face. Hermione falls silent.

“Don’t talk to my friend that way! If anyone here is stupid its you!” I shout back at him furious at the lack of respect that he shows his students. Snape’s eyes flash, and he levels his wand at me.

“I’ve had enough of your insolence Pendragon. Dumbledore won’t be able to protect you this time. It looks like the noble house is crumbling.” He sneers. I bite my lower lip, and Hermione grabs my hand. He turns his attention back to Black.

“Vengeance is very sweet,” Snape breathes at Black. “How I hoped I would be the one to catch you. . . .”

“The joke’s on you again, Severus,” Black snarls. “As long as this boy brings his rat up to the castle” — he jerks his head at Ron — “I’ll come quietly. . . .”

“Up to the castle?” says Snape silkily. “I don’t think we need to go that far. All I have to do is call the dementors once we get out of the Willow. They’ll be very pleased to see you, Black . . . pleased enough to give you a little Kiss, I daresay. . . .”

What little color there is in Black’s face leaves it.

“You — you’ve got to hear me out,” he croaks. “The rat — look at the rat —”

But there is a mad glint in Snape’s eyes that I have never seen before. He seems beyond reason.

“Come on, all of you,” he says. He clicks his fingers, and the ends of the cords that bound Lupin fly to his hands. “I’ll drag the werewolf. Perhaps the dementors will have a Kiss for him too —”

Before I knew what’s going on, Harry has crossed the room in three strides and blocked the door.

“Get out of the way, Potter, you’re in enough trouble already,” snarls Snape. “If I hadn’t been here to save your skin —”

“Professor Lupin could have killed me about a hundred times this year,” Harry says. “I’ve been alone with him loads of times, having defense lessons against the dementors. If he was helping Black, why didn’t he just finish me off then?”

“Don’t ask me to fathom the way a werewolf’s mind works,” hisses Snape. “Get out of the way, Potter.”

“YOU’RE PATHETIC!” Harry yells. “JUST BECAUSE THEY MADE A FOOL OF YOU AT SCHOOL YOU WON’T EVEN LISTEN —”

“YOU REALLY ARE THAT PETTY!” I cry as well.

“SILENCE! I WILL NOT BE SPOKEN TO LIKE THAT!” Snape shrieks, looking madder than ever. “Like father, like son, Potter! I have just saved your neck; you should be thanking me on bended knee! You would have been well served if he’d killed you! You’d have died like your father, too arrogant to believe you might be mistaken in Black — now get out of the way, or I will make you. GET OUT OF THE WAY, POTTER!”

Harry makes up his mind in a split second. Before Snape can take even one step toward him, he raises his wand.

“Expelliarmus!” he yells — except that his isn’t the only voice that shouts. There is a blast that makes the door rattle on its hinges; Snape is lifted off his feet and slammed into the wall, then slides down it to the floor, a trickle of blood oozing from under his hair. He has been knocked out.

I look around. Ron, Hermione, and I all tried to Disarm Snape at exactly the same moment. Snape’s wand soars in a high arc and lands on the bed next to Crookshanks.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” says Black, looking at Harry. “You should have left him to me. . . .”

Harry avoids Black’s eyes. I’m not exactly sure if we’ve done the right thing, but at the moment it is the best option. “We attacked a teacher. . . . We attacked a teacher . . . ,” Hermione whimpers, staring at the lifeless Snape with frightened eyes. “Oh, we’re going to be in so much trouble —”

Lupin is struggling against his bonds. Black bends down quickly and unties him. Lupin straightens up, rubbing his arms where the ropes cut into them.

“Thank you, Harry,” he says.

“I’m still not saying I believe you,” Harry retorts.

“Then it’s time we offered you some proof,” says Black. “You, boy — give me Peter. Now.”

Ron clutches Scabbers closer to his chest. I still don’t know why Ron is so protective of him even now, in a life or death situation.

“Come off it,” he says weakly. “Are you trying to say he broke out of Azkaban just to get his hands on Scabbers? I mean . . .” He looked up at Harry, Hermione, and me for support. “Okay, say Pettigrew could turn into a rat — there are millions of rats — how’s he supposed to know which one he’s after if he was locked up in Azkaban?”

“You know, Sirius, that’s a fair question,” says Lupin, turning to Black and frowning slightly. “How did you find out where he was?”

Black puts one of his clawlike hands inside his robes and takes out a crumpled piece of paper, which he smooths flat and holds out to show everyone.

It is the photograph of Ron and his family that had appeared in the Daily Prophet the previous summer, and there, on Ron’s shoulder, is Scabbers.

“How did you get this?” Lupin asks Black, thunderstruck.

“Fudge,” says Black. “When he came to inspect Azkaban last year, he gave me his paper. And there was Peter, on the front page . . . on this boy’s shoulder. . . . I knew him at once . . . how many times had I seen him transform? And the caption said the boy would be going back to Hogwarts . . . to where Harry was. . . .”

“My God,” says Lupin softly, staring from Scabbers to the picture in the paper and back again. “His front paw . . .” Okay maybe I’m missing something here…

“What about it?” says Ron defiantly.

“He’s got a toe missing,” says Black.

“Of course,” Lupin breathes. “So simple . . . so brilliant . . . he cut it off himself?”

“Just before he transformed,” says Black. “When I cornered him, he yelled for the whole street to hear that I’d betrayed Lily and James. Then, before I could curse him, he blew apart the street with the wand behind his back, killed everyone within twenty feet of himself — and sped down into the sewer with the other rats. . . .”

“Didn’t you ever hear, Ron?” says Lupin. “The biggest bit of Peter they found was his finger.” I shudder remembering Kingsley telling me this story when I was younger.

“I remember… he’s telling the truth about that.” I tell my friends.

“Look, Scabbers probably had a fight with another rat or something! He’s been in my family for ages, right —”

“Twelve years, in fact,” says Lupin. “Didn’t you ever wonder why he was living so long?”

“We — we’ve been taking good care of him!” says Ron.

“Not looking too good at the moment, though, is he?” replies Lupin. “I’d guess he’s been losing weight ever since he heard Sirius was on the loose again. . . .”

“He’s been scared of that mad cat!” cries Ron, nodding towards Crookshanks, who is still purring on the bed. You know, that does make more sense on why he’s been alive for this long.

“This cat isn’t mad,” says Black hoarsely. He reaches out a bony hand and strokes Crookshanks’s fluffy head. “He’s the most intelligent of his kind I’ve ever met. He recognized Peter for what he was right away. And when he met me, he knew I was no dog. It was a while before he trusted me. . . . Finally, I managed to communicate to him what I was after, and he’s been helping me. . . .”

“What do you mean?” breathes Hermione.

“He tried to bring Peter to me, but couldn’t . . . so he stole the passwords into Gryffindor Tower for me. . . . As I understand it, he took them from a boy’s bedside table. . . .”

This all is so crazy but yet at the same time it actually makes sense, that is if they can prove it. “Give them Scabbers Ron.” I tell him. Ron turns to me with wide eyes.

“Not you too Jamie! They’re mad!” Ron cries.

“There’s a simple way to prove this, if Scabbers stays a rat then they’re wrong, but if not, well then we’ve all been in a lot of danger for a really long time, and did not know it.” I tell my friends, a chill going back down my spine. My head throbs angrily reminding me of its presence.

“But Peter got wind of what was going on and ran for it. . . .” croaks Black continuing attempting to break our sudden tenstion. “This cat — Crookshanks, did you call him? — told me Peter had left blood on the sheets. . . . I supposed he bit himself. . . . Well, faking his own death had worked once. . . .”

These words jolt Harry to his senses. “And why did he fake his death?” he says furiously. “Because he knew you were about to kill him like you killed my parents!”

“No,” says Lupin, “Harry —”

“And now you’ve come to finish him off!”

“Yes, I have,” says Black, with an evil look at Scabbers.

“Then I should’ve let Snape take you!” Harry shouts. This is seriously not getting anywhere.

“Harry,” says Lupin hurriedly, “don’t you see? All this time we’ve thought Sirius betrayed your parents, and Peter tracked him down — but it was the other way around, don’t you see? Peter betrayed your mother and father — Sirius tracked Peter down —”

“THAT’S NOT TRUE!” Harry yells. “HE WAS THEIR SECRET-KEEPER! HE SAID SO BEFORE YOU TURNED UP. HE SAID HE KILLED THEM!”

He is pointing at Black, who shakes his head slowly; the sunken eyes are suddenly overbright.

“Harry . . . I as good as killed them,” he croaks. “I persuaded Lily and James to change to Peter at the last moment, persuaded them to use him as Secret-Keeper instead of me. . . . I’m to blame, I know it. . . . The night they died, I’d arranged to check on Peter, make sure he was still safe, but when I arrived at his hiding place, he’d gone. Yet there was no sign of a struggle. It didn’t feel right. I was scared. I set out for your parents’ house straightaway. And when I saw their house, destroyed, and their bodies . . . I realized what Peter must’ve done . . . what I’d done. . . .” His voice breaks. He turns away.

“Enough of this,” says Lupin, and there is a steely note in his voice I have never heard before. “There’s one certain way to prove what really happened. Ron, give me that rat.”

“What are you going to do with him if I give him to you?” Ron asks Lupin tensely.

“Force him to show himself,” says Lupin. “If he really is a rat, it won’t hurt him.”

Ron hesitates. Then at long last, he holds out Scabbers and Lupin takes him. Scabbers begins to squeak without stopping, twisting and turning, his tiny black eyes bulging in his head.

“Ready, Sirius?” says Lupin.

Black has already retrieved Snape’s wand from the bed. He approaches Lupin and the struggling rat, and his wet eyes suddenly seem to be burning in his face.

“Together?” he says quietly.

“I think so,” says Lupin, holding Scabbers tightly in one hand and his wand in the other. “On the count of three. One — two — THREE!”

A flash of blue-white light erupts from both wands; for a moment, Scabbers is frozen in midair, his small gray form twisting madly — Ron yells — the rat falls and hits the floor. There is another blinding flash of light and then —

It is like watching a speeded-up film of a growing tree. A head is shooting upward from the ground; limbs are sprouting; a moment later, a man is standing where Scabbers was, cringing and wringing his hands. Crookshanks is spitting and snarling on the bed; the hair on his back is standing up. Oh my Merlin what sort of twisted world have we stepped into tonight.

That filthy little fleabag was a man all this time? I shiver in revulsion.

He is a very short man, hardly taller than Harry and Hermione. His thin, colorless hair is unkempt and there is a large bald patch on top. He has the shrunken appearance of a plump man who has lost a lot of weight in a short time. His skin looks grubby, almost like Scabbers’s fur, and something of the rat lingers around his pointed nose and his very small, watery eyes. He looks around at us all, his breathing fast and shallow. I see his eyes dart to the door and back again.

“Well, hello, Peter,” says Lupin pleasantly, as though rats frequently erupt into old school friends around him. “Long time, no see.”

“S-Sirius . . . R-Remus . . .” Even Pettigrew’s voice is squeaky. Again, his eyes dart toward the door. “My friends . . . my old friends . . .”

Black’s wand arm rises, but Lupin seizes him around the wrist, gives him a warning look, then turns again to Pettigrew, his voice light and casual.

“We’ve been having a little chat, Peter, about what happened the night Lily and James died. You might have missed the finer points while you were squeaking around down there on the bed —”

“Remus,” gasps Pettigrew, and I can see beads of sweat breaking out over his pasty face, “you don’t believe him, do you . . .? He tried to kill me, Remus. . . .”

“So we’ve heard,” says Lupin, more coldly. “I’d like to clear up one or two little matters with you, Peter, if you’d be so —”

“He’s come to try and kill me again!” Pettigrew squeaks suddenly, pointing at Black, and I see that he uses his middle finger, because his index is missing. “He killed Lily and James and now he’s going to kill me too. . . . You’ve got to help me, Remus. . . .”

Black’s face looks more skull-like than ever as he stares at Pettigrew with his fathomless eyes.

“No one’s going to try and kill you until we’ve sorted a few things out,” says Lupin.

“Sorted things out?” squeals Pettigrew, looking wildly about him once more, eyes taking in the boarded windows and, again, the only door. “I knew he’d come after me! I knew he’d be back for me! I’ve been waiting for this for twelve years!”

“You knew Sirius was going to break out of Azkaban?” says Lupin, his brow furrowed. “When nobody has ever done it before?”

“He’s got Dark powers the rest of us can only dream of!” Pettigrew shouts shrilly. “How else did he get out of there? I suppose He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named taught him a few tricks!”

Black starts to laugh, a horrible, mirthless laugh that fills the whole room. Okay people just can’t stop being overly creepy today.

“Voldemort, teach me tricks?” he says. Pettigrew flinches as though Black has brandished a whip at him.

“What, scared to hear your old master’s name?” says Black. “I don’t blame you, Peter. His lot aren’t very happy with you, are they?”

“Don’t know what you mean, Sirius —” mutters Pettigrew, his breathing faster than ever. His whole face is shining with sweat now.

“You haven’t been hiding from me for twelve years,” says Black. “You’ve been hiding from Voldemort’s old supporters. I heard things in Azkaban, Peter. . . . They all think you’re dead, or you’d have to answer to them. . . . I’ve heard them screaming all sorts of things in their sleep. Sounds like they think the double-crosser double-crossed them. Voldemort went to the Potters’ on your information . . . and Voldemort met his downfall there. And not all Voldemort’s supporters ended up in Azkaban, did they? There are still plenty out here, biding their time, pretending they’ve seen the error of their ways. . . . If they ever got wind that you were still alive, Peter —”

“Don’t know . . . what you’re talking about . . . ,” says Pettigrew again, more shrilly than ever. He wipes his face on his sleeve and looks up at Lupin. “You don’t believe this — this madness, Remus —”

“I must admit, Peter, I have difficulty in understanding why an innocent man would want to spend twelve years as a rat,” says Lupin evenly. Why would anyone want to turn into a rat in the first place is beyond me.

“Innocent, but scared!” squeals Pettigrew. “If Voldemort’s supporters were after me, it was because I put one of their best men in Azkaban — the spy, Sirius Black!”

Black’s face contorts.

“How dare you,” he growls, sounding suddenly like the bear-sized dog he was. “I, a spy for Voldemort? When did I ever sneak around people who were stronger and more powerful than myself? But you, Peter — I’ll never understand why I didn’t see you were the spy from the start. You always liked big friends who’d look after you, didn’t you? It used to be us . . . me and Remus . . . and James. . . .” Pettigrew wipes his face again; he is almost panting for breath.

“Me, a spy . . . must be out of your mind . . . never . . . don’t know how you can say such a —”

“Lily and James only made you Secret-Keeper because I suggested it,” Black hisses, so venomously that Pettigrew takes a step backward. “I thought it was the perfect plan . . . a bluff. . . . Voldemort would be sure to come after me, would never dream they’d use a weak, talentless thing like you. . . . It must have been the finest moment of your miserable life, telling Voldemort you could hand him the Potters.”

Pettigrew is muttering distractedly; I catch words like “far-fetched” and “lunacy,” but I can’t help paying more attention to the ashen color of Pettigrew’s face and the way his eyes continue to dart towards the windows and door.

“Professor Lupin?” says Hermione timidly. “Can — can I say something?”

“Certainly, Hermione,” says Lupin courteously.

“Well — Scabbers — I mean, this — this man — he’s been sleeping in Harry’s dormitory for three years. If he’s working for You-Know-Who, how come he never tried to hurt Harry before now?”

“There!” says Pettigrew shrilly, pointing at Ron with his maimed hand. “Thank you! You see, Remus? I have never hurt a hair of Harry’s head! Why should I?”

“There was no point. Voldemort wasn’t around to reward you, and why become a wanted man until you had to!” I exclaim. Pettigrew glances at me worriedly, and wrings his hands more.

“She’s right,” says Black. “Because you never did anything for anyone unless you could see what was in it for you. Voldemort’s been in hiding for twelve years, they say he’s half dead. You weren’t about to commit murder right under Albus Dumbledore’s nose, for a wreck of a wizard who’d lost all of his power, were you? You’d want to be quite sure he was the biggest bully in the playground before you went back to him, wouldn’t you? Why else did you find a wizard family to take you in? Keeping an ear out for news, weren’t you, Peter? Just in case your old protector regained strength, and it was safe to rejoin him. . . .”

Pettigrew opens his mouth and closes it several times. He seems to have lost the ability to talk.

“Er — Mr. Black — Sirius?” says Hermione. Black jumps at being addressed like this and stares at Hermione as though being spoken to politely is something he’s long forgotten. I grip Hermione’s hand tightly and squeeze it reassuringly. I’m starting to think that we’re out of trouble.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how — how did you get out of Azkaban, if you didn’t use Dark Magic?”

“Thank you!” gasps Pettigrew, nodding frantically at her. “Exactly! Precisely what I —”

But Lupin silences him with a look. Black is frowning slightly at Hermione, but not as though he is annoyed with her. He seems to be pondering his answer.

“I don’t know how I did it,” he says slowly. “I think the only reason I never lost my mind is that I knew I was innocent. That wasn’t a happy thought, so the dementors couldn’t suck it out of me . . . but it kept me sane and knowing who I am . . . helped me keep my powers . . . so when it all became . . . too much . . . I could transform in my cell . . . become a dog. Dementors can’t see, you know. . . .” He swallows.

“They feel their way toward people by sensing their emotions. . . . They could tell that my feelings were less — less human, less complex when I was a dog . . . but they thought, of course, that I was losing my mind like everyone else in there, so it didn’t trouble them. But I was weak, very weak, and I had no hope of driving them away from me without a wand. . . .”

That must have been horrible, I shudder in sympathy and the constant pain going through my head.

“But then I saw Peter in that picture . . . I realized he was at Hogwarts with Harry . . . perfectly positioned to act, if one hint reached his ears that the Dark Side was gathering strength again. . . .”

Pettigrew is shaking his head, mouthing noiselessly, but staring all the while at Black as though hypnotized.

“. . . ready to strike at the moment he could be sure of allies . . . and to deliver the last Potter to them. If he gave them Harry, who’d dare say he’d betrayed Lord Voldemort? He’d be welcomed back with honors. . . .”

“So you see, I had to do something. I was the only one who knew Peter was still alive. . . .”

I remember what Mr. Weasley had told Mrs. Weasley. “The guards say he’s been talking in his sleep . . . always the same words . . . ‘He’s at Hogwarts.’”

“It was as if someone had lit a fire in my head, and the dementors couldn’t destroy it. . . . It wasn’t a happy feeling . . . it was an obsession . . . but it gave me strength, it cleared my mind. So, one night when they opened my door to bring food, I slipped past them as a dog. . . . It’s so much harder for them to sense animal emotions that they were confused. . . . I was thin, very thin . . . thin enough to slip through the bars. . . . I swam as a dog back to the mainland. . . . I journeyed north and slipped into the Hogwarts grounds as a dog. I’ve been living in the forest ever since, except when I came to watch the Quidditch, of course. You fly as well as your father did, Harry. . . .”

He looks at Harry, who does not look away. “Believe me,” croaks Black. “Believe me, Harry. I never betrayed James and Lily. I would have died before I betrayed them.”

And at long last, Harry seems to believe him. Throat too tight to speak, he nods.

“No!” Pettigrew has fallen to his knees as though Harry’s nod is his own death sentence. He shuffles forward on his knees, groveling, his hands clasped in front of him as though praying.

“Sirius — it’s me . . . it’s Peter . . . your friend . . . you wouldn’t . . .” Black kicks out and Pettigrew recoils.

“There’s enough filth on my robes without you touching them,” says Black.

“Remus!” Pettigrew squeaks, turning to Lupin instead, writhing imploringly in front of him. “You don’t believe this . . . Wouldn’t Sirius have told you they’d changed the plan?”

“Not if he thought I was the spy, Peter,” says Lupin. “I assume that’s why you didn’t tell me, Sirius?” he says casually over Pettigrew’s head.

“Forgive me, Remus,” says Black.

“Not at all, Padfoot, old friend,” says Lupin, who is now rolling up his sleeves.  “And will you, in turn, forgive me for believing you were the spy?”

“Of course,” says Black, and a ghost of a grin flits across his gaunt face. He, too, begins rolling up his sleeves. “Shall we kill him together?” Okay, this is progressing fast and in a direction that I don’t like.

“Yes, I think so,” says Lupin grimly.

“You wouldn’t . . . you won’t . . . ,” gasps Pettigrew. And he scrambles around to Ron.

“Ron . . . haven’t I been a good friend . . . a good pet? You won’t let them kill me, Ron, will you . . . you’re on my side, aren’t you?”

But Ron is staring at Pettigrew with the utmost revulsion. “I let you sleep in my bed!” he says.

“Kind boy . . . kind master . . .” Pettigrew crawls towards Ron, “you won’t let them do it. . . . I was your rat. . . . I was a good pet. . . .”

“If you made a better rat than a human, it’s not much to boast about, Peter,” says Black harshly. Ron, going still paler with pain, wrenches his broken leg out of Pettigrew’s reach. Pettigrew turns on his knees, staggered forward, and seizes the hem of Hermione’s robes. Hermione’s grip on me tightens so much that its painful, and I wince.

“Sweet girl . . . clever girl . . . you — you won’t let them. . . . Help me. . . .”

Hermione pulls her robes out of Pettigrew’s clutching hands and backs away against the wall, looking horrified. He turns on his knees and focuses his attention on me.

“You look so much like Alexis… Jamie, you’ve been through so much just like Harry. I know Augustus. I can tell you things about him that will help, I can give you information to protect your brother and you.” Pettigrew begs. I look down into the trembling sweating face of a man that once used to be a rat. He had betrayed my friend’s parents, and personally knew Augustus who killed mine.

“You should rot in Azkeban for what you’ve done!” I spit at him disgustedly, backing Hermione and me up a few feet.

Pettigrew kneels, trembling uncontrollably, and turns his head slowly towards Harry.

“Harry . . . Harry . . . you look just like your father . . . just like him. . . .”

“HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO HARRY?” roars Black. “HOW DARE YOU FACE HIM? HOW DARE YOU TALK ABOUT JAMES IN FRONT OF HIM?”

“Harry,” whispers Pettigrew, shuffling towards him, hands outstretched. “Harry, James wouldn’t have wanted me killed. . . . James would have understood, Harry . . . he would have shown me mercy. . . .”

Both Black and Lupin stride forward, seizing Pettigrew’s shoulders, and throw him backwards onto the floor. He sits there, twitching with terror, staring up at them.

“You sold Lily and James to Voldemort,” says Black, who is shaking too. “Do you deny it?” Pettigrew bursts into tears. It is horrible to watch: He looks like an oversized, balding baby, cowering on the floor.

“Sirius, Sirius, what could I have done? The Dark Lord . . . you have no idea . . . he has weapons you can’t imagine. . . . I was scared, Sirius, I was never brave like you and Remus and James. I never meant it to happen. . . . He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named forced me —”

“DON’T LIE!” bellows Black. “YOU’D BEEN PASSING INFORMATION TO HIM FOR A YEAR BEFORE LILY AND JAMES DIED! YOU WERE HIS SPY!”

“He — he was taking over everywhere!” gasps Pettigrew. “W-what was there to be gained by refusing him?”

“What was there to be gained by fighting the most evil wizard who has ever existed?” says Black, with a terrible fury in his face. “Only innocent lives, Peter!”

“You don’t understand!” whines Pettigrew. “He would have killed me, Sirius!”

“THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED!” roars Black. “DIED RATHER THAN BETRAY YOUR FRIENDS, AS WE WOULD HAVE DONE FOR YOU!”

Black and Lupin stand shoulder to shoulder, wands raised. “You should have realized,” says Lupin quietly, “if Voldemort didn’t kill you, we would. Good-bye, Peter.”

Hermione covers her face with her hands and turns into me. I wrap my arm around her shoulders and pull her in close, needing the contact as much as her.

“NO!” Harry yells. He runs forward, placing himself in front of Pettigrew, facing the wands. “You can’t kill him,” he says breathlessly. “You can’t.” Black and Lupin both looked shocked.

“Harry, this piece of vermin is the reason you have no parents,” Black snarls. “This cringing bit of filth would have seen you die too, without turning a hair. You heard him. His own stinking skin meant more to him than your whole family.”

“I know,” Harry pants. “We’ll take him up to the castle. We’ll hand him over to the dementors. . . . He can go to Azkaban . . . but don’t kill him.” Harry flicks his gaze to me and I nod my head, giving him a supporting grim smile as well.

“Harry!” gasps Pettigrew, and he flings his arms around Harry’s knees. “You — thank you — it’s more than I deserve — thank you —”

“Get off me,” Harry spits, throwing Pettigrew’s hands off him in disgust. “I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it because I don’t reckon my dad would’ve wanted his best friends to become killers — just for you.”

No one moves or makes a sound except Pettigrew, whose breath is coming in wheezes as he clutches his chest. Black and Lupin are looking at each other. Then, with one movement, they lower their wands. Thank Merlin!

“You’re the only person who has the right to decide, Harry,” says Black. “But think . . . think what he did. . . .”

“He can go to Azkaban,” Harry repeats. “If anyone deserves that place, he does. . . .” Pettigrew is still wheezing behind him.

“Very well,” says Lupin. “Stand aside, Harry.” Harry hesitates.

“I’m going to tie him up,” says Lupin. “That’s all, I swear.” Harry steps out of the way. Thin cords shoot from Lupin’s wand this time, and next moment, Pettigrew is wriggling on the floor, bound and gagged.

“But if you transform, Peter,” growls Black, his own wand pointing at Pettigrew too, “we will kill you. You agree, Harry?”

Harry looks down at the pitiful figure on the floor and nods so that Pettigrew can see him.

“Right,” says Lupin, suddenly businesslike. “Ron, I can’t mend bones nearly as well as Madam Pomfrey, so I think it’s best if we just strap your leg up until we can get you to the hospital wing. And Jamie, I have a feeling that you should get that head looked at. You seem to have a rather nasty penchant for getting head wounds.”

“Y-yeah…” I say beginning to sag now that the danger of the situation is fading along with my adrenalin. Hermione supports more of my weight on her. Thankfully my wound has stopped bleeding now.

He hurries over to Ron, bends down, taps Ron’s leg with his wand, and mutters, “Ferula.” Bandages spring up Ron’s leg, strapping it tightly to a splint. Lupin helps him to his feet; Ron puts his weight gingerly on the leg and doesn’t wince.

“That’s better,” he says. “Thanks.”

“What about Professor Snape?” says Hermione in a small voice, looking down at Snape’s prone figure.

“There’s nothing seriously wrong with him,” says Lupin, bending over Snape and checking his pulse. “You were just a little — overenthusiastic. Still out cold. Er — perhaps it will be best if we don’t revive him until we’re safely back in the castle. We can take him like this. . . .”

He muttered, “Mobilicorpus.” As though invisible strings are tied to Snape’s wrists, neck, and knees, he is pulled into a standing position, head still lolling unpleasantly, like a grotesque puppet. He hangs a few inches above the ground, his limp feet dangling. Lupin picks up the Invisibility Cloak and tucks it safely into his pocket.

“And two of us should be chained to this,” says Black, nudging Pettigrew with his toe. “Just to make sure.”

“I’ll do it,” says Lupin.

“And me,” says Ron savagely, limping forward. The pain in my head is increasing and I lean ever heavier against Hermione.

Black conjures heavy manacles from thin air; soon Pettigrew is upright again, left arm chained to Lupin’s right, right arm to Ron’s left. Ron’s face is set. He seems to have taken Scabbers’s true identity as a personal insult. Crookshanks leaps lightly off the bed and leads the way out of the room, his bottlebrush tail held jauntily high.

“We should hurry… Jamie’s fading fast.” Hermione says struggling with me. Harry comes and braces my other side, and Hermione sighs in relief. This was quite the eventful evening that I didn’t want in the first place.


	18. The Dementor's Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's.

Chapter 18- The Dementor’s Kiss

 

I have never been part of a stranger group. Crookshanks leads the way down the stairs; Lupin, Pettigrew, and Ron go next, looking like entrants in a six-legged race. Next comes Professor Snape, drifting creepily along, his toes hitting each stair as we descended, held up by his own wand, which is being pointed at him by Sirius. Harry and Hermione bring up the rear supporting me between the two of them.

“Harry… Mione… my head hurts.” I say, okay maybe I whine. My past head injuries have never been left untreated this long before.

Harry chuckles drily from next to me. “You don’t say Jamie?” Hermione glares at Harry for that comment.

“I know Jamie, we’ll get you out of here soon and to the hospital wing.” Hermione assures me.

“No… crazily ticked of Dumbledore will roast me alive.” I moan this time. Harry shoots Hermione a confused look, but she only chuckles.

“I’m sorry Jamie, but it’s going to have to happen.” She tells me. I groan again in defeat. This year is just being incredibly unfair to me.

Getting back into the tunnel is difficult. Lupin, Pettigrew, and Ron have to turn sideways to manage it; Lupin still has Pettigrew covered with his wand. I can see them edging awkwardly along the tunnel in single file. Crookshanks is still in the lead. Harry goes right after Sirius, who is still making Snape drift along ahead of them; he keeps bumping his lolling head on the low ceiling. I have the impression Sirius was making no effort to prevent this. Hermione and I follow at the end.

“You know what this means?” Sirius says abruptly to Harry as we make our slow progress along the tunnel. “Turning Pettigrew in?”

“You’re free,” says Harry.

“Yes . . . ,” says Sirius. “But I’m also — I don’t know if anyone ever told you — I’m your godfather.”

“Yeah, I knew that,” says Harry.

“Well . . . your parents appointed me your guardian,” says Sirius stiffly. “If anything happened to them . .” Does this mean what I think this means?

“I’ll understand, of course, if you want to stay with your aunt and uncle,” says Sirius. I snort softly. “But . . . well . . . think about it. Once my name’s cleared . . . if you wanted a . . . a different home . . .”

“What — live with you?” he says, accidentally cracking his head on a bit of rock protruding from the ceiling. “Leave the Dursleys?”

“Of course, I thought you wouldn’t want to,” says Sirius quickly. “I understand, I just thought I’d —”

“Are you insane?” says Harry, his voice easily as croaky as Sirius’s. “Of course I want to leave the Dursleys! Have you got a house? When can I move in?”

Sirius turns right around to look at him; Snape’s head is scraping the ceiling but Sirius doesn’t seem to care.

“You want to?” he says. “You mean it?”

“Yeah, I mean it!” says Harry. I smile weakly at the display going on in front of me. Sirius beams at Harry, and I feel something shift painfully inside me. I wish that I had someone that only cared that much about me. Kingsley loves me, that much I know, but he loves his job more. My brother and I were always second best with him. Everyone has a family except for us…

We do not speak again until they we reach the end of the tunnel. Crookshanks darts up first; he has evidently pressed his paw to the knot on the trunk, because Lupin, Pettigrew, and Ron clamber upward without any sound of savaging branches.

Sirius sees Snape up through the hole, then stands back for Harry, Hermione, and I to pass. At last, all of us are out. Thank you Merlin again! I can finally take in a fresh breath of air!

The grounds are very dark now; the only light comes from the distant windows of the castle. Without a word, we set off. Pettigrew is still wheezing and occasionally whimpering.

“One wrong move, Peter,” says Lupin threateningly ahead. His wand is still pointed sideways at Pettigrew’s chest. Never mind, I’m still not out of this crazy mess.

“Silently they tramped through the grounds, the castle lights growing slowly larger. Snape was still drifting weirdly ahead of Sirius, his chin bumping on his chest. And then —

A cloud shifts. There are suddenly dim shadows on the ground. Our party is bathed in moonlight.

Snape collides with Lupin, Pettigrew, and Ron, who has stopped abruptly. Sirius freezes. He flings out one arm to make Harry, Hermione, and me stop.

I can see Lupin’s silhouette. He has gone rigid. Then his limbs begin to shake.

“Oh, my —” Hermione gasps. “He didn’t take his potion tonight! He’s not safe!”

“Run,” Sirius whispers. “Run. Now.”

But I can’t run. Ron is chained to Pettigrew and Lupin. Harry and I leap forward but Sirius caught us around the chest and throw us back.

“Leave it to me — RUN!” He shouts.

There is a terrible snarling noise. Lupin’s head is lengthening. So is his body. His shoulders are hunching. Hair is sprouting visibly on his face and hands, which are curling into clawed paws. Crookshanks’s hair is on end again; he is backing away —

As the werewolf rears, snapping its long jaws, Sirius disappears from our side. He has transformed. The enormous, bearlike dog bounds forward. As the werewolf wrenches itself free of the manacle binding it, the dog seizes it about the neck and pulled it backward, away from Ron and Pettigrew. They are locked, jaw to jaw, claws ripping at each other —

Harry and I stand, transfixed by the sight, too intent upon the battle to notice anything else. It is Hermione’s scream that alerts us —

Pettigrew has dived for Lupin’s dropped wand. Ron, unsteady on his bandaged leg, falls. There is a bang, a burst of light — and Ron lays motionless on the ground. “Ron!” I shout. Another bang — Crookshanks flies into the air and back to the earth in a heap.

“Expelliarmus!” I yell, pointing my own wand at Pettigrew; Lupin’s wand flies high into the air and out of sight.

“Stay where you are!” Harry shouts, running forward me by his side unsteadily. Adrenalin is starting to mask the pain again.

Too late, Pettigrew has transformed. I see his bald tail whip through the manacle on Ron’s outstretched arm and hear a scurrying through the grass. Oh no, there goes our only chance of proof of what happened tonight.

There was a howl and a rumbling growl; we turn to see the werewolf taking flight; it is galloping into the forest —

“Sirius, he’s gone, Pettigrew transformed!” Harry yells.

Sirius is bleeding; there are gashes across his muzzle and back, but at Harry’s words he scrambles up again, and in an instant, the sound of his paws fade to silence as he pounds away across the grounds.

Harry, Hermione, and I dash over to Ron.

“What did he do to him?” Hermione whispers. Ron’s eyes are only half-closed, his mouth hanging open; he is definitely alive, we can hear him breathing, but he doesn’t seem to recognize us.

“Oh no.” I say softly fighting the urge to throw up from the sight of my friend and the slight nausea that I have.

“I don’t know. . . .”

I look desperately around. Black and Lupin both gone . . . we have no one but Snape for company, still hanging, unconscious, in midair.

“We’d better get them up to the castle and tell someone,” says Harry, pushing his hair out of his eyes, trying to think straight. “Come —”

But then, from beyond the range of our vision, we hear a yelping, a whining: a dog in pain. . . .

“Sirius,” Harry mutters, staring into the darkness. Harry sets off at a run, Hermione, and me right behind him. The yelping seems to be coming from near the lake. We pelt towards it, and running flat out, feel the cold without realizing what it must mean —

The yelping stops abruptly. As we reach the lakeshore, we see why — Sirius has turned back into a man. He is crouched on all fours, his hands over his head. Oh this is so not good.

“Nooo,” he moans. “Noooo . . . please. . . .”

And then I see them. Dementors, at least a hundred of them, gliding in a black mass around the lake towards us. I spin around, the familiar, icy cold penetrating my insides, fog starting to obscure my vision; more are appearing out of the darkness on every side; they are encircling us. . . .

“Hermione, Jamie, think of something happy!” Harry yells, raising his wand. Suddenly the voices start in my head.

_“Run Alexis! Take Luka and Jamie! I can’t hold them off forever!”_

_“Don’t be stupid Daniel I’m not leaving without you!”_

_“Think of the children my love! They have to survive!”_

_“I don’t want this to be goodbye…”_

_“I know but this is the only thing that we can do…” Suddenly there’s a crash and the splintering of wood._

_“Come on Danny, don’t you want to show me the family? Those kids of you need to meet their Uncle Augustus, if only so that they can watch me kill their parents in front of them before they die as well!” A mad loud voice sounds from the distance._

I attempt to think about the memories with my friends, and my brother but its not working its too late…

I surrender to the bright white light and the endless chilling cold that has seeped into my very soul, leaving me feeling cold, bereft, and barren on the inside. Maybe this is how it’s supposed to end after all?


	19. Hermione's Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

Chapter 19- Hermione’s Secret

 

“Shocking business . . . shocking . . . miracle none of them died . . . never heard the like . . . by thunder, it was lucky you were there, Snape. . . .”

“Thank you, Minister.”

“Order of Merlin, Second Class, I’d say. First Class, if I can wangle it!”

“Thank you very much indeed, Minister.”

“Nasty cut you’ve got there. . . . Black’s work, I suppose?”

“As a matter of fact, it was Potter, Weasley, Granger, and Pendragon Minister. . . .”

“No!”

“Black had bewitched them, I saw it immediately. A Confundus Charm, to judge by their behavior. They seemed to think there was a possibility he was innocent. They weren’t responsible for their actions. On the other hand, their interference might have permitted Black to escape. . . . They obviously thought they were going to catch Black single-handed. They’ve got away with a great deal before now. . . . I’m afraid it’s given them a rather high opinion of themselves . . . and of course Potter has always been allowed an extraordinary amount of license by the headmaster —”

“Ah, well, Snape . . . Harry Potter, you know . . . we’ve all got a bit of a blind spot where he’s concerned.”

What in the name of Merlin’s saggy pants is going on here? Why on earth is Snape of all people getting an Order of Merlin? He’s never done anything heroic in his whole life! Actually where am I, and why does my head not hurt anymore?

“And yet — is it good for him to be given so much special treatment? Personally, I try and treat him like any other student. And any other student would be suspended — at the very least — for leading his friends into such danger. Consider, Minister — against all school rules — after all the precautions put in place for his protection — out-of-bounds, at night, consorting with a werewolf and a murderer — and I have reason to believe he has been visiting Hogsmeade illegally too —”

“Well, well . . . we shall see, Snape, we shall see. . . . The boy has undoubtedly been foolish. . . .” Why if I thought that I could get out of this bed without falling, and punch Snape without any repercussions I would. No one gets to talk about my friend like that, not even the Minister, and least of all Snape!

“What amazes me most is the behavior of the dementors . . . you’ve really no idea what made them retreat, Snape?”

“No, Minister . . . by the time I had come ’round they were heading back to their positions at the entrances. . . .”

“Extraordinary. And yet Black, Harry, Jamie, and the girl —”

“All unconscious by the time I reached them. I bound and gagged Black, naturally, conjured stretchers, and brought them all straight back to the castle.” So that’s what happened… that no good low life is ruining everything! Why I ought to blow up a caldroun in his face that next time we’re in potions!

I open my eyes, and squint against the brightness of the room around me. I am lying in the dark hospital wing. At the very end of the ward, I can make out Madam Pomfrey with her back to me, bending over a bed. Ron’s red hair is visible beneath Madam Pomfrey’s arm.

I move my head over on the pillow. In the bed to my right lies Hermione. Moonlight is falling across her bed. Her eyes are open too. She looks petrified, and when she sees that I am awake, presses a finger to her lips, then points to the hospital wing door. It is ajar, and the voices of Cornelius Fudge and Snape are coming through it from the corridor outside.

I look to my left and see that Harry is lying in the bed there, and that he’s awake as well, but his eyes glint angrily. I signal to him that he should keep quiet as well.   Madam Pomfrey now comes walking briskly up the dark ward to Harry’s bed. I turn to look at her. She is carrying the largest block of chocolate I have ever seen in my life. Luka would be so jealous! It looks like a small boulder.

“Ah, you’re awake!” she says briskly. She places the chocolate on Harry’s bedside table and begins breaking it apart with a small hammer.

“How’s Ron?” The three of us say together.

“He’ll live,” says Madam Pomfrey grimly. “As for you two . . . you’ll be staying here until I’m satisfied you’re — Potter, what do you think you’re doing?”

Harry is sitting up, putting his glasses back on, and picking up his wand. “I need to see the headmaster,” he says. I push up on my elbows, and wince from how sore my body still is.

“Potter,” says Madam Pomfrey soothingly, “it’s all right. They’ve got Black. He’s locked away upstairs. The dementors will be performing the Kiss any moment now —”

“WHAT?” We cry.

I jump up out of bed; Hermione and Harry have done the same. But our shouts shout have been heard in the corridor outside; next second, Cornelius Fudge and Snape have entered the ward.

“Jamie, Harry, what’s this?” says Fudge, looking agitated. “You should be in bed — have they had any chocolate?” he asks Madam Pomfrey anxiously.

“Minister, listen!” I say attempting to help my friend. “Sirius Black’s innocent! Peter Pettigrew faked his own death! We saw him tonight! You can’t let the dementors do that thing to Sirius, he’s —”

But Fudge is shaking his head with a small smile on his face.

“Jamie, Jamie, you’re very confused, you’ve been through a dreadful ordeal, lie back down, now, we’ve got everything under control. . . .”

“YOU HAVEN’T!” Harry yells. “YOU’VE GOT THE WRONG MAN!”

“Minister, listen, please,” Hermione says; she has hurried to Harry’s and my side and is gazing imploringly into Fudge’s face. “I saw him too. It was Ron’s rat, he’s an Animagus, Pettigrew, I mean, and —”

“You see, Minister?” says Snape. “Confunded, the three of them. . . . Black’s done a very good job on them. . . .”

“WE’RE NOT CONFUNDED!” Harry roars. I flinch in shock at the tone that he’s taken here.

“Minister! Professor!” says Madam Pomfrey angrily. “I must insist that you leave. Potter is my patient, and he should not be distressed!”

“I’m not distressed, I’m trying to tell them what happened!” Harry says furiously. “If they’d just listen —”

But Madam Pomfrey suddenly stuffs a large chunk of chocolate into Harry’s mouth; he chokes, and she seizes the opportunity to force him back onto the bed.

“Now, please, Minister, these children need care. Please leave —” The door opens again. It is Dumbledore. Harry swallows his mouthful of chocolate with great difficulty and gets up again.

I stand defensively next to Hermione in case anything bad should occur. “Professor Dumbledore, Sirius Black —” I start.

“For heaven’s sake!” says Madam Pomfrey hysterically. “Is this a hospital wing or not? Headmaster, I must insist —”

“My apologies, Poppy, but I need a word with Mr. Potter, Miss Pendragon, and Miss Granger,” says Dumbledore calmly. “I have just been talking to Sirius Black —”

“I suppose he’s told you the same fairy tale he’s planted in Potter’s mind?” spits Snape. “Something about a rat, and Pettigrew being alive —”

“That, indeed, is Black’s story,” says Dumbledore, surveying Snape closely through his half-moon spectacles.

“And does my evidence count for nothing?” snarls Snape. Um… Yes! “Peter Pettigrew was not in the Shrieking Shack, nor did I see any sign of him on the grounds.”

“That was because you were knocked out, Professor!” says Hermione earnestly. “You didn’t arrive in time to hear —”

“Miss Granger, HOLD YOUR TONGUE!” I take a step forward my fists shaking at my sides, but Hermione grabs my arm and pulls me back to her. He has no right to ever speak to her again, not after what he said the last time!

“Now, Snape,” says Fudge, startled, “the young lady is disturbed in her mind, we must make allowances —”

“We’re not disturbed!” I shout.

“I would like to speak to Harry, Hermione, and Jamie alone,” says Dumbledore abruptly. “Cornelius, Severus, Poppy — please leave us.” Whoa he’s even making Madam Pomfrey leave us now.

“Headmaster!” sputters Madam Pomfrey. “They need treatment, they need rest —”

“This cannot wait,” says Dumbledore. “I must insist.”

Madam Pomfrey purses her lips and strides away into her office at the end of the ward, slamming the door behind her. Fudge consults the large gold pocket watch dangling from his waistcoat.

“The dementors should have arrived by now,” he says. “I’ll go and meet them. Dumbledore, I’ll see you upstairs.”

He crosses to the door and holds it open for Snape, but Snape hasn’t moved. “You surely don’t believe a word of Black’s story?” Snape whispers, his eyes fixed on Dumbledore’s face. Why do I feel that I’ve just interrupted a very private moment here?

I shift nervously to my other foot. “I wish to speak to Jamie, Harry, and Hermione alone,” Dumbledore repeats.

Snape takes a step towards Dumbledore. “Sirius Black showed he was capable of murder at the age of sixteen,” he breathes. “You haven’t forgotten that, Headmaster? You haven’t forgotten that he once tried to kill me?”

“My memory is as good as it ever was, Severus,” says Dumbledore quietly.

Snape turns on his heel and marches through the door Fudge is still holding. It closes behind them, and Dumbledore turns to the three of us. We all burst into speech at the same time.

“Professor, Black’s telling the truth — we saw Pettigrew —”

“— he escaped when Professor Lupin turned into a werewolf —”

“— he’s a rat —”

“— Pettigrew’s front paw, I mean, finger, he cut it off —”

“— Pettigrew attacked Ron, it wasn’t Sirius —”

But Dumbledore holds up his hand to stem the flood of explanations. Uh oh, I don’t like the look on his face.

“It is your turn to listen, and I beg you will not interrupt me, because there is very little time,” he says quietly. “There is not a shred of proof to support Black’s story, except your word — and the word of three thirteen-year-old wizards will not convince anybody. A street full of eyewitnesses swore they saw Sirius murder Pettigrew. I myself gave evidence to the Ministry that Sirius had been the Potters’ Secret-Keeper.”

“Professor Lupin can tell you —” Harry says, unable to stop himself.

“Professor Lupin is currently deep in the forest, unable to tell anyone anything. By the time he is human again, it will be too late, Sirius will be worse than dead. I might add that werewolves are so mistrusted by most of our kind that his support will count for very little — and the fact that he and Sirius are old friends —”

“But —” I try.

“Listen to me, Jamie. It is too late, you understand me? You must see that Professor Snape’s version of events is far more convincing than yours.”

“He hates Sirius,” Hermione says desperately. “All because of some stupid trick Sirius played on him —”

“Sirius has not acted like an innocent man. The attack on the Fat Lady — entering Gryffindor Tower with a knife — without Pettigrew, alive or dead, we have no chance of overturning Sirius’s sentence.”

“But you believe us.” Harry says.

“Yes, I do,” says Dumbledore quietly. “But I have no power to make other men see the truth, or to overrule the Minister of Magic. . . .”

“What we need,” says Dumbledore slowly, and his light blue eyes move from Harry and me to Hermione, “is more time.”

“But —” Hermione begins. And then her eyes become very round. “OH!”

“Now, pay attention,” says Dumbledore, speaking very low, and very clearly. “Sirius is locked in Professor Flitwick’s office on the seventh floor. Thirteenth window from the right of the West Tower. If all goes well, you will be able to save more than one innocent life tonight. But remember this, both of you: You must not be seen. Miss Granger, you know the law — you know what is at stake. . . . You — must — not — be — seen.”

I don’t have a clue about what is going on. Dumbledore turns on his heel and looks back as he reaches the door. “I am going to lock you in. It is —” he consults his watch, “five minutes to midnight. Miss Granger, three turns should do it. Good luck.”

“Good luck?” I repeat as the door closed behind Dumbledore. “Three turns? What’s he talking about? What are we supposed to do?”

But Hermione is fumbling with the neck of her robes, pulling from beneath them a very long, very fine gold chain.

“Harry, Jamie, come here,” she says urgently. “Quick!”

Harry and I move towards her, completely bewildered. She is holding the chain out. I see a tiny, sparkling hourglass hanging from it.

“Here —” She has thrown the chain around our necks too.

“Ready?” she says breathlessly.

“What are we doing?” Harry says, completely lost. Hermione turns the hourglass over three times. Wait! Is that what I think it is! Oh Merlin please no!

The dark ward dissolves. I have the sensation that I am flying very fast, backward. A blur of colors and shapes rush past me, my ears are pounding, I try to yell but can’t hear my own voice —

And then I feel solid ground beneath my feet, and everything comes into focus again — Okay that wasn’t fun.

I am standing next to Hermione, and Harry in the deserted entrance hall and a stream of golden sunlight is falling across the paved floor from the open front doors.    I look wildly around at Hermione, the chain of the hourglass cutting into my neck.

“Hermione, what — ?” Harry starts.

“In here!” Hermione seizes Harry’s and my arms and drags us across the hall to the door of a broom closet; she opens it, pushes us inside among the buckets and mops, then slams the door behind us.

“What — how — Hermione, what happened?” I ask her staring accusingly at the necklace.

“We’ve gone back in time,” Hermione whispers, lifting the chain off Harry’s and my neck in the darkness. “Three hours back . . .”

I can’t believe that she actually has one of those. No one our age should have been able to get a hold of one.

“But —” Harry sputters.

“Shh! Listen! Someone’s coming! I think — I think it might be us!” Hermione has her ear pressed against the cupboard door.

“Footsteps across the hall . . . yes, I think it’s us going down to Hagrid’s!”

“Are you telling me,” I whisper, “that we’re here in this cupboard and we’re out there too?”

“Yes,” says Hermione, her ear still glued to the cupboard door. “I’m sure it’s us. It doesn’t sound like more than four people . . . and we’re walking slowly because we’re under the Invisibility Cloak —”

She breaks off, still listening intently. “We’ve gone down the front steps. . . .” This is one of the weirdest out of body experiences that I’ve ever had before.

“Wicked.” I mutter softly.

Hermione sits down on an upturned bucket, looking desperately anxious, but Harry seems to want a few questions answered.

“Where did you get that hourglass thing?” He asks.

“It’s called a Time-Turner,” Hermione whispers, “and I got it from Professor McGonagall on our first day back. I’ve been using it all year to get to all my lessons. Professor McGonagall made me swear I wouldn’t tell anyone. She had to write all sorts of letters to the Ministry of Magic so I could have one. She had to tell them that I was a model student, and that I’d never, ever use it for anything except my studies. . . . I’ve been turning it back so I could do hours over again, that’s how I’ve been doing several lessons at once, see? But . . .”

“Ha! I knew something strange was going on with her Harry! You thought that it was all child’s play but I was right!” I cry, excited that my detective work paid off somewhat. Hermione ignores my pleased outburst.

“Guys, I don’t understand what Dumbledore wants us to do. Why did he tell us to go back three hours? How’s that going to help Sirius?” The smile slips off my face. Hermione Granger doesn’t know what to do? This must be more serious then I thought.

I place a comforting hand on her shoulder. “There must be something that happened around now he wants us to change,” Harry sats slowly. “What happened? We were walking down to Hagrid’s three hours ago. . . .”

“This is three hours ago, and we are walking down to Hagrid’s,” says Hermione. “We just heard ourselves leaving. . . .”

I bite my lower lip in thought. “Dumbledore just said — just said we could save more than one innocent life. . . .” And then it hits me. “Hermione, we’re going to save Buckbeak!”

“But — how will that help Sirius?” She asks quizzically.

“Dumbledore said — he just told us where the window is — the window of Flitwick’s office! Where they’ve got Sirius locked up! We’ve got to fly Buckbeak up to the window and rescue Sirius! Sirius can escape on Buckbeak — they can escape together!” Harry cries catching onto my train of though. We grin at each other in the dim light. Hermione on the other hand looks terrified.

“If we manage that without being seen, it’ll be a miracle!” She squeaks.

“Well, we’ve got to try, haven’t we?” I say. Harry stands up and presses his ear against the door.

“Doesn’t sound like anyone’s there. . . . Come on, let’s go. . . .” The three of us push out of the closet and slink over to the entrance of the castle.

“Where on earth are you three going?” A suspicious voice says. We freeze and turn around slowly, and we’re faced by the young Ariana Dumbledore with her hands on her hips in an intimidating pose. I wince half expecting her to yell at me for getting yet another head injury, and ending up in the hospital wing, but I remember that this is three hours ago, and then I was fine.

“Oh nothing really…” Hermione attempts to say nonchalantly. She fails miserably at the whole lying thing by the way. Ariana narrows her brown eyes at the three of us.

“Uh huh…” She says totally no believing us. Okay this is crazy!

“Ariana, we just came back three hours in time from the hospital wing where we were laid up by dementors, and I had a head injury. Now we’re off to save Buckbeak, and Sirius Black is innocent by the way, and Ron’s pet rat is actually Peter Pettigrew who has long since been dead!” I admit. Ariana stands there for a minute blinking at us, before a furious look comes across her face.

“You don’t have to lie to me Jamie! If you don’t want me around, you could have just said so!” She cries, and with that she spins on her heel and marches off into the castle away from us. I stand there shocked about what had just happened.

“Come on Jamie, we have to go.” Hermione says grabbing my arm, and pulling me out of the castle after Harry.

“I told her the truth.” I say dumbfounded. Hermione smirks at me.

“Sometimes the truth can sound like a lie Jamie.” She tells me.

The shadows are already lengthening, the tops of the trees in the Forbidden Forest gilded once more with gold.

“If anyone’s looking out of the window —” Hermione squeakss, looking up at the castle behind us, already back to terrified.

“We’ll run for it,” says Harry determinedly. “Straight into the forest, all right? We’ll have to hide behind a tree or something and keep a lookout —”

“Okay, but we’ll go around by the greenhouses!” says Hermione breathlessly. “We need to keep out of sight of Hagrid’s front door, or we’ll see us! We must be nearly at Hagrid’s by now!”

Why do we have to take another route? We set off at a sprint. Thankfully I’m feeling much better since waking up in the hospital wing. We tear across the vegetable gardens to the greenhouses, pause for a moment behind them, then set off again, fast as we can, skirting around the Whomping Willow, tearing toward the shelter of the forest. . . .

Safe in the shadows of the trees, Harry turns around me right next to him; seconds later, Hermione arrives beside us, panting.

“Right,” she gasps. “We need to sneak over to Hagrid’s. . . . Keep out of sight, guys. . . .”

We make our way silently through the trees, keeping to the very edge of the forest. Then, as we glimpse the front of Hagrid’s house, we hear a knock upon his door. We move quickly behind a wide oak trunk and peer out from either side. Hagrid has appeared in his doorway, shaking and white, looking around to see who has knocked. And I hear Harry’s voice.

“It’s us. We’re wearing the Invisibility Cloak. Let us in and we can take it off.”

“Yeh shouldn’ve come!” Hagrid whispers. He stands back, then shuts the door quickly.

“This is the weirdest thing we’ve ever done,” Harry says fervently.

“I second that opinion, and we’ve done some pretty weird things.” I shiver. We don’t have our cloaks with us this time.

“Let’s move along a bit,” Hermione whispers. “We need to get nearer to Buckbeak!”

We creep through the trees until we see the nervous hippogriff, tethered to the fence around Hagrid’s pumpkin patch.

“Now?” Harry whispers.

“No!” says Hermione. “If we steal him now, those Committee people will think Hagrid set him free! We’ve got to wait until they’ve seen he’s tied outside!”

“That’s going to give us about sixty seconds,” I say nervously. This is starting to seem impossible.

At that moment, there is a crash of breaking china from inside Hagrid’s cabin.

“That’s Hagrid breaking the milk jug,” Hermione whispers. “I’m going to find Scabbers in a moment —” My anger heats up at hearing that traitor’s name.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, we hear Hermione’s shriek of surprise.

“Hermione,” says Harry suddenly, “what if we — we just run in there and grab Pettigrew —”

“No!” says Hermione in a terrified whisper. “Don’t you understand? We’re breaking one of the most important Wizarding laws! Nobody’s supposed to change time, nobody! You heard Dumbledore, if we’re seen —”

“We’d only be seen by ourselves and Hagrid!” Harry argues.

“Harry, what do you think you’d do if you saw yourself bursting into Hagrid’s house?” asks Hermione.

“I’d — I’d think I’d gone mad,” says Harry, “or I’d think there was some Dark Magic going on —”

“Exactly! You wouldn’t understand, you might even attack yourself! Don’t you see? Professor McGonagall told me what awful things have happened when wizards have meddled with time. . . . Loads of them ended up killing their past or future selves by mistake!”

“Okay!” says Harry. “It was just an idea, I just thought —”

But Hermione nudges us and points towards the castle. I move my head a few inches to get a clear view of the distant front doors. Dumbledore, Fudge, the old Committee member, and Macnair the executioner are coming down the steps.

“We’re about to come out!” Hermione breathes.

And sure enough, moments later, Hagrid’s back door opens, and I see myself, Ron, Harry, and Hermione walking out of it with Hagrid. It is, without a doubt, the strangest sensation of my life, standing behind the tree, and watching myself in the pumpkin patch.

“It’s okay, Beaky, it’s okay . . . ,” Hagrid says to Buckbeak. Then he turns to the four of us. “Go on. Get goin’.”

“Hagrid, we can’t —”

“We’ll tell them what really happened —”

“They can’t kill him —”

“I’m sorry Hagrid…”

“Go! It’s bad enough without you lot in trouble an’ all!”

I watch the Hermione in the pumpkin patch throw the Invisibility Cloak over us. This is so freaky.

“Go quick. Don’ listen. . . .”

There is a knock on Hagrid’s front door. The execution party has arrived. Hagrid turns around and heads back into his cabin, leaving the back door ajar. I watch the grass flatten in patches all around the cabin and hear four pairs of feet retreating. We have gone . . . but the Harry, Hermione, and I hidden in the trees can now hear what is happening inside the cabin through the back door.

“Where is the beast?” comes the cold voice of Macnair.

“Out — outside,” Hagrid croaks. I shiver in sadness at thinking what had happened the first time. I pull my head out of sight as Macnair’s face appears at Hagrid’s window, staring out at Buckbeak. Then we hear Fudge.

“We — er — have to read you the official notice of execution, Hagrid. I’ll make it quick. And then you and Macnair need to sign it. Macnair, you’re supposed to listen too, that’s procedure —”

Macnair’s face vanishes from the window. It is now or never. “Wait here,” Harry whispers to Hermione and me. “I’ll do it.”

“You’re going to need help.” I protest slipping out of the trees beside him. We vault the fence of the pumpkin patch and approach Buckbeak.

“It is the decision of the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures that the hippogriff Buckbeak, hereafter called the condemned, shall be executed on the sixth of June at sundown —”

Careful not to blink, Harry stares up into Buckbeak’s fierce orange eyes once more and bows. Buckbeak sinks to his scaly knees and then stands up again. Harry begins to fumble with the knot of rope tying Buckbeak to the fence.

“. . . sentenced to execution by beheading, to be carried out by the Committee’s appointed executioner, Walden Macnair . . .”

“Come on, Buckbeak,” I murmur, “come on, we’re going to help you. Quietly . . . quietly . . .”

“ . . . as witnessed below. Hagrid, you sign here. . . .”

Harry throws all his weight onto the rope, but Buckbeak has dug in his front feet.

“Well, let’s get this over with,” says the reedy voice of the Committee member from inside Hagrid’s cabin. “Hagrid, perhaps it will be better if you stay inside —”

“No, I — I wan’ ter be with him. . . . I don’ wan’ him ter be alone —” Footsteps echo from within the cabin.

“Buckbeak, move!” I hiss. I grab onto the rope as well and help Harry tug. We tug harder on the rope around Buckbeak’s neck. The hippogriff begins to walk, rustling its wings irritably. We are still ten feet away from the forest, in plain view of Hagrid’s back door.

“One moment, please, Macnair,” comes Dumbledore’s voice. “You need to sign too.” The footsteps stop. We heave on the rope. Buckbeak snaps his beak and walks a little faster. Man, remind me to never get into a ‘who can be more stubborn’ contest with a hippogriff.

Hermione’s white face is sticking out from behind a tree. “Harry, Jamie, hurry!” she mouths.

I can still hear Dumbledore’s voice talking from within the cabin. We give the rope another wrench. Buckbeak breaks into a grudging trot. We have reached the trees. . . .

“Quick! Quick!” Hermione moans, darting out from behind her tree, seizing the rope too and adding her weight to make Buckbeak move faster. I look over my shoulder; we are now blocked from sight; we can’t see Hagrid’s garden at all.

“Stop!” I whisper to them. “They might hear us —” Hagrid’s back door has opened with a bang. Harry, Hermione, Buckbeak, and I stand quite still; even the hippogriff seems to be listening intently.

Silence . . . then —

“Where is it?” says the reedy voice of the Committee member. “Where is the beast?”

“It was tied here!” says the executioner furiously. “I saw it! Just here!”

“How extraordinary,” says Dumbledore. There is a note of amusement in his voice. That makes me wonder if he had this planned the whole time.

“Beaky!” says Hagrid huskily.

There is a swishing noise, and the thud of an axe. The executioner seems to have swung it into the fence in anger. And then comes the howling, and this time we can hear Hagrid’s words through his sobs.

“Gone! Gone! Bless his little beak, he’s gone! Musta pulled himself free! Beaky, yeh clever boy!” I grin in happiness knowing that my friend is no longer hurting.

Buckbeak starts to strain against the rope, trying to get back to Hagrid. The three of us tighten our grip and dig ourr heels into the forest floor to stop him.

“Someone untied him!” the executioner is snarling. “We should search the grounds, the forest —”

“Macnair, if Buckbeak has indeed been stolen, do you really think the thief will have led him away on foot?” says Dumbledore, still sounding amused. “Search the skies, if you will. . . . Hagrid, I could do with a cup of tea. Or a large brandy.”

“O’ — o’ course, Professor,” says Hagrid, who sounds weak with happiness. “Come in, come in. . . .”

Harry, Hermione, and I listen closely. We hear footsteps, the soft cursing of the executioner, the snap of the door, and then silence once more.

“I can’t believe we just did that!” I exclaim softly grinning at my friends and the rescued Hippogriff.

“Now what?” whispers Harry, looking around.

“We’ll have to hide in here,” says Hermione, who looks very shaken still. “We need to wait until they’ve gone back to the castle. Then we wait until it’s safe to fly Buckbeak up to Sirius’s window. He won’t be there for another couple of hours. . . . Oh, this is going to be difficult. . . .”

She looks nervously over her shoulder into the depths of the forest. The sun is setting now.

“We’re going to have to move,” says Harry, thinking hard. “We’ve got to be able to see the Whomping Willow, or we won’t know what’s going on.” I nod my head in agreement.

“As long as we don’t run into Aragog and his family I’m golden.” I reply. Harry and I shiver in unison at that thought. Hermione eyes us unsurely.

“Be grateful Hermione that you don’t know.” Harry tells her.

“Okay,” sats Hermione, getting a firmer grip on Buckbeak’s rope. “But we’ve got to keep out of sight, guys, remember. . . .”

We move around the edge of the forest, darkness falling thickly around us, until we are hidden behind a clump of trees through which we can make out the Willow.

“There’s Ron!” says Harry suddenly.

A dark figure is sprinting across the lawn and its shout echoes through the still night air.

“Get away from him — get away — Scabbers, come here —”

And then we see three more figures materialize out of nowhere. I watch Harry, Hermione, and myself chase after Ron. Then I see Ron dive.

“Gotcha! Get off, you stinking cat —”

“There’s Sirius!” says Harry. The great shape of the dog has bounded out from the roots of the Willow. We see him bowl Harry over, then seize Ron. . . .

“This is totally unreal.” I say quietly.

“Looks even worse from here, doesn’t it?” says Harry, watching the dog pulling Ron into the roots. “Ouch — look, Jamie just got walloped by the tree — and so did we — this is weird —”

The Whomping Willow is creaking and lashing out with its lower branches; we can see ourselves darting here and there, trying to reach the trunk. And then the tree freezes.

“That is Crookshanks pressing the knot,” says Hermione.

“And there we go . . . ,” Harry mutters. “We’re in.”

“I must admit Hermione Crookshanks has turned out to be a good cat. Despite all the troubles he’s given us this year.” I tell her.

The moment we disappear, the tree begins to move again. Seconds later, we hear footsteps quite close by. Dumbledore, Macnair, Fudge, and the old Committee member are making their way up to the castle.

“Right after we’d gone down into the passage!” says Hermione. “If only Dumbledore had come with us . . .”

“Macnair and Fudge would’ve come too,” Harry says bitterly. “I bet you anything Fudge would’ve told Macnair to murder Sirius on the spot. . . .”

We watch the four men climb the castle steps and disappear from view. For a few minutes the scene is deserted. Then —

“Here comes Lupin!” I say as we see another figure sprinting down the stone steps and hurrying towards the Willow. I look up at the sky. Clouds are obscuring the moon completely.

We watch Lupin seize a broken branch from the ground and prod the knot on the trunk. The tree stops fighting, and Lupin, too, disappears into the gap in its roots.

“If he’d only grabbed the Cloak,” says Harry. “It’s just lying there. . . .” He turns to us.

“If I just dashed out now and grabbed it, Snape’d never be able to get it and —”

“Harry, we mustn’t be seen!”

“How can you stand this?” Harry asks Hermione, and me fiercely. “Just standing here and watching it happen?” He hesitates. “I’m going to grab the Cloak!”

“Harry, no!” Hermione quietly cries.

I seize the back of Harry’s robes not a moment too soon. Just then, we hear a burst of song. It is Hagrid, making his way up to the castle, singing at the top of his voice, and weaving slightly as he walks. A large bottle is swinging from his hands.

“See?” Hermione whispers. “See what would have happened? We’ve got to keep out of sight! No, Buckbeak!”

The hippogriff is making frantic attempts to get to Hagrid again; I seize his rope too, straining to hold Buckbeak back. We watch Hagrid meander tipsily up to the castle. He is gone. Buckbeak stops fighting to get away. His head droops sadly. I pet his beak softly attempting to comfort him.

Barely two minutes later, the castle doors fly open yet again, and Snape comes charging out of them, running towards the Willow. Oh Merlin here we go again.

Harry’s fists clench as we watch Snape skid to a halt next to the tree, looking around. He grabs the Cloak and holds it up.

“Get your filthy hands off it,” Harry snarls under his breath.

“Shh!” I quiet him.

Snape seizes the branch Lupin had used to freeze the tree, prods the knot, and vanishes from view as he puts on the Cloak.

“So that’s it,” says Hermione quietly. “We’re all down there . . . and now we’ve just got to wait until we come back up again. . . .”

She takes the end of Buckbeak’s rope and ties it securely around the nearest tree, then sits down on the dry ground, arms around her knees.

“Harry, there’s something I don’t understand. . . . Why didn’t the dementors get Sirius? I remember them coming, and then I think I passed out . . . there were so many of them. . . .” I say confusedly now having the time to think about it.

“That’s what I’ve been wondering as well.” Hermione says.

Harry and I sit down as well. Harry explains what he’d seen; how, as the nearest dementor had lowered its mouth to Harry’s, a large silver something had come galloping across the lake and forced the dementors to retreat.

Hermione’s and my mouths are slightly open by the time Harry has finished.

“But what was it?” Hermione asks.

“There’s only one thing it could have been, to make the dementors go,” says Harry. “A real Patronus. A powerful one.”

“But who conjured it?” I question biting my lower lip in thought.

“Didn’t you see what they looked like?” says Hermione eagerly. “Was it one of the teachers?”

“No,” says Harry. “He wasn’t a teacher.”

“But it must have been a really powerful wizard, to drive all those dementors away. . . . If the Patronus was shining so brightly, didn’t it light him up? Couldn’t you see — ?” I ask.

“Yeah, I saw him,” says Harry slowly. “But . . . maybe I imagined it. . . . I wasn’t thinking straight. . . . I passed out right afterward. . . .”

“Who did you think it was?” Hermione grills.

“I think —” Harry swallows, knowing how strange this is going to sound. “I think it was my dad.” Okay I was not expecting that one I have to admit.

I start biting my lower lip again in worry. “Harry, your dad’s — well — dead,” I say quietly.

“I know that,” says Harry quickly.

“You think you saw his ghost?” Hermione asks.

“I don’t know . . . no . . . he looked solid. . . .” He replies.

“But then —”

“Maybe I was seeing things,” says Harry. “But . . . from what I could see . . . it looked like him. . . . I’ve got photos of him. . . .”

“I know it sounds crazy,” says Harry flatly. He turns to look at Buckbeak, who is digging his beak into the ground, apparently searching for worms. I scoot closer to Harry.

“You know, its okay Harry. Sometimes I think that I see my parents as well… its hard not having ever really gotten to know them before they’re taken from you.” I tell him quietly. Harry looks up with me and gives me a soft grateful look. I reach out and give his hand a squeeze.

The leaves overhead rustle faintly in the breeze. The moon drifts in and out of sight behind the shifting clouds. Hermione sits with her face turned towards the Willow, waiting.

And then, at last, after over an hour . . .

“Here we come!” Hermione whispers.

We get to our feet. Buckbeak raises his head. We see Lupin, Ron, and Pettigrew clambering awkwardly out of the hole in the roots, followed by the unconscious Snape drifting weirdly upward. Next comes Harry, Hermione, Black, and me. Hermione is supporting me. They all begin to walk towards the castle.

My heart is starting to beat very fast. I glance up at the sky. Any moment now, that cloud is going to move aside and show the moon. . . .

“Guys,” Hermione mutters as though she knows exactly what we are thinking, “we’ve got to stay put. We mustn’t be seen. There’s nothing we can do. . . .”

“So we’re just going to let Pettigrew escape all over again. . . .” says Harry quietly.

“How do you expect to find a rat in the dark?” snaps Hermione. “There’s nothing we can do! We came back to help Sirius. We’re not supposed to be doing anything else!”

“All right!” Harry grumbles. The moon slides out from behind its cloud. We see the tiny figures across the grounds stop. Then we see movement —

“There goes Lupin,” I whisper. “He’s transforming —”

“Hermione, Jamie!” says Harry suddenly. “We’ve got to move!”

“We mustn’t, I keep telling you —” Hermione starts.

“Not to interfere! Lupin’s going to run into the forest, right at us!”

Hermione gasps. “Quick!” she moans, dashing to untie Buckbeak. “Quick! Where are we going to go? Where are we going to hide? The dementors will be coming any moment —”

“Back to Hagrid’s!” Harry says. “It’s empty now — come on!”

We run as fast as we can, Buckbeak cantering along behind us. We can hear the werewolf howling behind us. . . .

I seriously don’t want to end up as a midnight snack for Professor Lupin, no matter how much more I like him rather than my other DADA professors.

The cabin is in sight; I skid to the door, wrench it open, and Hermione, Harry, and Buckbeak flash past me; I throw myself in after them and bolt the door. Fang the boarhound barks loudly.

“Shh, Fang, it’s us!” says Hermione, hurrying over and scratching his ears to quieten him. “That was really close!” she says to Harry, and me.

“Yeah . . .” I sigh allowing myself to relax for the first time in a while.

Harry is looking out of the window. I join him. It is much harder to see what is going on from here. Buckbeak seems very happy to find himself back inside Hagrid’s house. He lies down in front of the fire, folded his wings contentedly, and seems ready for a good nap.

We can’t let that happen. “I think I’d better go outside again, you know,” says Harry slowly. “I can’t see what’s going on — we won’t know when it’s time —”

Hermione looks up. Her expression is suspicious.

“I’m not going to try and interfere,” says Harry quickly. “But if we don’t see what’s going on, how’re we going to know when it’s time to rescue Sirius?”

“Well . . . okay, then . . . I’ll wait here with Buckbeak . . . but Harry, be careful — there’s a werewolf out there — and the dementors —”

“Don’t worry Mione, he won’t do anything stupid, for I’m going to go with him. Can’t let Boy Wonder here get killed now can we.” I say shooting a meaningful look at my friend. Hermione sighs and shakes her head.

“I was afraid you were going to say that.” She moans. With that we step out of the cabin.

We can hear yelping in the distance. That means the dementors are closing in on Sirius. . . . Harry, Hermione, and I would be running to him any moment. . . .

We stare out towards the lake, our hearts doing a kind of drumroll in our chests. . . .

“You want to find out who sent the patronus don’t you.” I ask Harry softly. He jumps and turns to shoot me a guilty look.

“I have to know if it was my Dad Jamie. You’d want to know to if you were in my shoes.” Harry tells me earnestly. I sigh.

“I know that’s why I’m not letting you do this alone. Friends stick together through these sort of things you know.” I tell him with a crooked smile on my face.

And there are the dementors. They are emerging out of the darkness from every direction, gliding around the edges of the lake. . . . They are moving away from where we stand, to the opposite bank. . . . We won’t have to get near them. . . .

Harry and I begin to run. I’m suddenly thankful to Wood and his crazy work out regime for all the running that I’ve had to do tonight.

The lake is coming nearer and nearer, but there is no sign of anyone. On the opposite bank, I can see tiny glimmers of silver — Harry’s attempts at a Patronus —

There is a bush at the very edge of the water. We throw ourselves behind it, peering desperately through the leaves. On the opposite bank, the glimmers of silver are suddenly extinguished.

“Come on!” Harry mutters, staring about. “Where are you? Dad, come on —”

But no one comes. We raise our heads to look at the circle of dementors across the lake. One of them is lowering its hood. It is time for the rescuer to appear — but no one is coming to help this time —”

“Harry…” I start desperately.

Harry flings himself out from behind the bush and pulls out his wand. “EXPECTO PATRONUM!” he yells.

And out of the end of his wand bursts, not a shapeless cloud of mist, but a blinding, dazzling, silver animal. I screw up my eyes, trying to see what it was. It looks like a horse. It is galloping silently away from us, across the black surface of the lake. I see it lower its head and charge at the swarming dementors. . . . Now it is galloping around and around the black shapes on the ground, and the dementors are falling back, scattering, retreating into the darkness. . . . They are gone.

“Oh my Merlin…” I breathe captivated by the sight before me. Harry’s father hadn’t saved us, Harry had.

The Patronus turns. It is cantering back towards Harry across the still surface of the water. It isn’t a horse. It isn’t a unicorn, either. It is a stag. It is shining brightly as the moon above . . . it is coming back to him. . . .

It stops on the bank. Its hooves make no mark on the soft ground as it stares at Harry with its large, silver eyes. Slowly, it bows its antlered head. And Harry realizes . . . “Prongs,” he whispers. I come out from behind the bush and stand next to my friend.

“Harry you saved us, that was incredible!” I exclaim. Harry grins slightly as his patronus disappears.

Then, with a great leap of my heart, I hear hooves behind us — we whirl around and see Hermione dashing towards us, dragging Buckbeak behind her.

“What did you do?” she says fiercely. “You said you were only going to keep a lookout!”

“I just saved all our lives . . . ,” says Harry. “Get behind here — behind this bush — I’ll explain.”

Hermione listens to what had just happened with her mouth open yet again.

“Did anyone see you?” She asks.

“Yes, haven’t you been listening? I saw me but I thought I was my dad! It’s okay!”

“Harry, I can’t believe it. . . . You conjured up a Patronus that drove away all those dementors! That’s very, very advanced magic. . . .”

I grin at them having a hard time imagining anyone else at the castle being able to pull of magic that advanced at our age.

“I knew I could do it this time,” says Harry, “because I’d already done it. . . . Does that make sense?”

“I don’t know — Harry, look at Snape!” I say suddenly.

Together we peer around the bush at the other bank. Snape has regained consciousness. He is conjuring stretchers and lifting the limp forms of Harry, Hermione, Black, and me onto them. A fifth stretcher, no doubt bearing Ron, is already floating at his side. Then, wand held out in front of him, he moves them away towards the castle.

“Right, it’s nearly time,” says Hermione tensely, looking at her watch. “We’ve got about forty-five minutes until Dumbledore locks the door to the hospital wing. We’ve got to rescue Sirius and get back into the ward before anybody realizes we’re missing. . . .”

Well isn’t this just going to be an easy job, ha! I think not! We wait, watching the moving clouds reflected in the lake, while the bush next to us whispered in the breeze. Buckbeak, bored, is ferreting for worms again.

“D’you reckon he’s up there yet?” says Harry, checking his watch. I look up at the castle and begin counting the windows to the right of the West Tower.

“Look!” Hermione whispers. “Who’s that? Someone’s coming back out of the castle!”

I stare through the darkness. The man is hurrying across the grounds, towards one of the entrances. Something shiny glints in his belt.

“Macnair!” I say. “The executioner! He’s gone to get the dementors! This is it, Hermione —”

Hermione puts her hands on Buckbeak’s back and Harry gives her a leg up. He repeats the action with me. Then he places his foot on one of the lower branches of the bush and climbs up in front of me. He pulls Buckbeak’s rope back over his neck and ties it to the other side of his collar like reins.

“Ready?” he whispers to Hermione and me. “You’d better hold on to me —” I grasp Harry around the middle, and Hermione does the same with me.

He nudges Buckbeak’s sides with his heels. Buckbeak soars straight into the dark air. I strengthen my grip on Harry and grin feeling the wind rip through my hair. Not quite like a broom but still just as fun! Hermione is holding me very tight around the waist; I can hear her muttering, “Oh, no — I don’t like this — oh, I really don’t like this —”

Harry urges Buckbeak forward. We are gliding quietly towards the upper floors of the castle. . . . Harry pulled hard on the left-hand side of the rope, and Buckbeak turns. I am trying to count the windows flashing past —

“Whoa!” he says, pulling backward as hard as he can. Buckbeak slows down and we found ourselves at a stop, unless you counted the fact that we keep rising up and down several feet as the hippogriff beats his wings to remain airborne. This is so totally wicked! I’m never going to forget this as long as I live!

“He’s there!” Harry says, spotting Sirius as we rise up beside the window. He reaches out, and as Buckbeak’s wings fall, is able to tap sharply on the glass.

Black looks up. I see his jaw drop. He leaps from his chair, hurries to the window, and tries to open it, but it is locked.

“Stand back!” Hermione calls to him, and she takes out her wand, still gripping the back of me robes with her left hand.

“Alohomora!” The window springs open.

“How — how — ?” says Black weakly, staring at the hippogriff. I grin at the dumbfounded look on his face. I love it when adults underestimate us.

“Get on — there’s not much time,” I say, gripping Harry firmly. “You’ve got to get out of here — the dementors are coming — Macnair’s gone to get them.”

Black places a hand on either side of the window frame and heaves his head and shoulders out of it. It is very lucky he is so thin. In seconds, he has managed to fling one leg over Buckbeak’s back and pull himself onto the hippogriff behind Hermione.

“Okay, Buckbeak, up!” says Harry, shaking the rope. “Up to the tower — come on!”

The hippogriff gives one sweep of its mighty wings and we are soaring upward again, high as the top of the West Tower. Buckbeak lands with a clatter on the battlements, and Harry, Hermione, and I slide off him at once. Okay I’m going to be sore for a little while from that ride.

“Sirius, you’d better go, quick,” Harry pants. “They’ll reach Flitwick’s office any moment, they’ll find out you’re gone.” Buckbeak paws the ground, tossing his sharp head.

“What happened to the other boy? Ron?” croaks Sirius.

“He’s going to be okay. He’s still out of it, but Madam Pomfrey says she’ll be able to make him better. Quick — go —” But Black is still staring down at Harry.

“How can I ever thank —”

“GO!” Harry, Hermione, and I shout together. Black wheels Buckbeak around, facing the open sky.

“We’ll see each other again,” he says. “You are — truly your father’s son, Harry. . . .”

He squeezes Buckbeak’s sides with his heels. Harry, Hermione, and I jump back as the enormous wings rise once more. . . . The hippogriff takes off into the air. . . . He and his rider become smaller and smaller as we gaze after them . . . then a cloud drifts across the moon. . . . They are gone.

“Well that wasn’t as hard as I thought it was going to be.” I say heaving a relieved breath. I should really learn by now to keep my mouth shut.


	20. All's Well that Ends Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

Chapter 20- All’s Well that Ends Well

 

“Harry, Jamie!” Hermione is tugging at my sleeve, staring at her watch. “We’ve got exactly ten minutes to get back down to the hospital wing without anybody seeing us — before Dumbledore locks the door —”

“Okay,” says Harry, wrenching his gaze from the sky, “let’s go. . . .”

“Why couldn’t this have been easy? I’m tired of running everywhere.” I huff. We slip through the doorway behind us and down a tightly spiraling stone staircase. As we reach the bottom of it, we hear voices. we flatten ourselves against the wall and listen. It sounds like Fudge and Snape. They are walking quickly along the corridor at the foot of the staircase.

“. . . only hope Dumbledore’s not going to make difficulties,” Snape is saying. “The Kiss will be performed immediately?” I growl softly, and Hermione squeezes my hand tightly to shut me up.

“As soon as Macnair returns with the dementors. This whole Black affair has been highly embarrassing. I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to informing the Daily Prophet that we’ve got him at last. . . . I daresay they’ll want to interview you, Snape . . . and once young Harry’s back in his right mind, I expect he’ll want to tell the Prophet exactly how you saved him. . . .”

I clench my teeth. I catch a glimpse of Snape’s smirk as he and Fudge pass our hiding place. Their footsteps die away. Harry, Hermione, and I wait a few moments to make sure they’d really gone, then start to run in the opposite direction. Down one staircase, then another, along a new corridor — then we hear a cackling ahead.

Oh no, there’s only one person who makes that sort of noise.

“Peeves!” Harry mutters, grabbing Hermione’s and my wrist. “In here!” We tear into a deserted classroom to our left just in time. Peeves seems to be bouncing along the corridor in boisterous good spirits, laughing his head off.

“Oh, he’s horrible,” whispers Hermione, her ear to the door. “I bet he’s all excited because the dementors are going to finish off Sirius. . . .” She checks her watch.  “Three minutes, you guys!”

We wait until Peeves’s gloating voice has faded into the distance, then slide back out of the room and break into a run again.

“Hermione — what’ll happen — if we don’t get back inside — before Dumbledore locks the door?” I pant.

“I don’t want to think about it!” Hermione moans, checking her watch again. “One minute!”

We reach the end of the corridor with the hospital wing entrance. “Okay — I can hear Dumbledore,” says Hermione tensely. “Come on!” We creep along the corridor. The door opens. Dumbledore’s back appears.

“I am going to lock you in,” We hear him saying. “It is five minutes to midnight. Miss Granger, three turns should do it. Good luck.”

Dumbledore backs out of the room, closes the door, and takes out his wand to magically lock it. Panicking, Harry, Hermione, and I run forward. Dumbledore looks up, and a wide smile appears under the long silver mustache. “Well?” he says quietly.

“We did it!” Harry says breathlessly. “Sirius has gone, on Buckbeak. . . .”

“Wasn’t easy either.” I huff. Dumbledore beams at us.

“Well done. I think —” He listens intently for any sound within the hospital wing.    “Yes, I think you’ve gone too — get inside — I’ll lock you in —”

We slip back inside the dormitory. It is empty except for Ron, who is still lying motionless in the end bed. As the lock clicks behind us, Harry, Hermione, and I creep back to our own beds, Hermione tucking the Time-Turner back under her robes. A moment later, Madam Pomfrey comes striding back out of her office.

“Did I hear the headmaster leaving? Am I allowed to look after my patients now?”

She is in a very bad mood. Harry, Hermione and I think it best to accept our chocolate quietly. Madam Pomfrey stands over us, making sure we eat it. But I can hardly swallow. We are waiting, listening, our nerves jangling. . . . And then, as we take a fourth piece of chocolate from Madam Pomfrey, we hear a distant roar of fury echoing from somewhere above us. . . .

Oh this is going to be interesting. “What was that?” says Madam Pomfrey in alarm.

Now we can hear angry voices, growing louder and louder. Madam Pomfrey is staring at the door.

“Really — they’ll wake everybody up! What do they think they’re doing?” I am trying to hear what the voices are saying. They are drawing nearer —

Looks like we’ll be getting another show tonight. I didn’t even have to pay to attend it too.

“He must have Disapparated, Severus. We should have left somebody in the room with him. When this gets out —”

“HE DIDN’T DISAPPARATE!” Snape roars, now very close at hand. “YOU CAN’T APPARATE OR DISAPPARATE INSIDE THIS CASTLE! THIS — HAS — SOMETHING — TO — DO — WITH — POTTER!”

“Severus — be reasonable — Harry has been locked up —”

BAM. The door of the hospital wing bursts open. Fudge, Snape, and Dumbledore come striding into the ward. Dumbledore alone looks calm. Indeed, he looks as though he is quite enjoying himself. Fudge appears angry. Thank Merlin the man could be knocked down a few pegs. But Snape is beside himself.

“OUT WITH IT, POTTER!” he bellows. “WHAT DID YOU DO?”

“Professor Snape!” shrieks Madam Pomfrey. “Control yourself!”

“See here, Snape, be reasonable,” says Fudge. “This door’s been locked, we just saw —”

“THEY HELPED HIM ESCAPE, I KNOW IT!” Snape howls, pointing at Harry, Hermione, and me. His face is twisted; spit is flying from his mouth.

“Calm down, man!” Fudge barks. “You’re talking nonsense!”

“YOU DON’T KNOW POTTER!” shrieks Snape. “HE DID IT, I KNOW HE DID IT —”

“That will do, Severus,” says Dumbledore quietly. “Think about what you are saying. This door has been locked since I left the ward ten minutes ago. Madam Pomfrey, have these students left their beds?”

“Of course not!” says Madam Pomfrey, bristling. “I would have heard them! Dementor effects are terrible, and Pendragon here cracked her skull again.”

“Well, there you have it, Severus,” says Dumbledore calmly. “Unless you are suggesting that Harry and Hermione are able to be in two places at once, I’m afraid I don’t see any point in troubling them further.”

Snape stands there, seething, staring from Fudge, who looks thoroughly shocked at his behavior, to Dumbledore, whose eyes are twinkling behind his glasses. Snape whirls about, robes swishing behind him, and storms out of the ward.

“Fellow seems quite unbalanced,” says Fudge, staring after him. “I’d watch out for him if I were you, Dumbledore.” Truer words have never been spoken about that man before.

“Oh, he’s not unbalanced,” says Dumbledore quietly. “He’s just suffered a severe disappointment.”

“He’s not the only one!” puffs Fudge. “The Daily Prophet’s going to have a field day! We had Black cornered and he slipped through our fingers yet again! All it needs now is for the story of that hippogriff’s escape to get out, and I’ll be a laughingstock! Well . . . I’d better go and notify the Ministry. . . .”

I hide a grin behind my hand. This has probably been one of my favorite outcomes of one of our adventures. “And the dementors?” says Dumbledore. “They’ll be removed from the school, I trust?”

“Oh yes, they’ll have to go,” says Fudge, running his fingers distractedly through his hair. “Never dreamed they’d attempt to administer the Kiss on an innocent boy. . . . Completely out of control . . . no, I’ll have them packed off back to Azkaban tonight. . . . Perhaps we should think about dragons at the school entrance. . . .”

“Hagrid would like that,” says Dumbledore with a swift smile at Harry and Hermione. As he and Fudge leave the dormitory, Madam Pomfrey hurries to the door and locks it again. Muttering angrily to herself, she heads back to her office.

There is a low moan from the other end of the ward. Ron has woken up. We can see him sitting up, rubbing his head, looking around.

“What — what happened?” he groans. “Harry? Why are we in here? Where’s Sirius? Where’s Lupin? What’s going on?” Harry, Hermione, and I look at each other.

“You explain,” says Harry, helping himself to some more chocolate.

“Oh Ron, have you missed quite the adventure.” I say shaking my head and grabbing another piece of the chocolate to torture my brother with later.

* * *

 

When Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I leave the hospital wing at noon the next day, it is to find an almost deserted castle. The sweltering heat and the end of the exams means that everyone is taking full advantage of another Hogsmeade visit. Neither Ron nor Hermione feel like going, however, so we wander onto the grounds, still talking about the extraordinary events of the previous night and wondering where Sirius and Buckbeak are now.

I’m also worrying about what happened with Ariana. It’s the first time that we’ve had a fight and I’ve been actually worried about what she still thinks about me afterward. It’s a new feeling and I’m not sure that I like it. “What’s on your mind Jamie?” Hermione asks me plopping down beside me as we sit near the lake watching the giant squid lazily waving its tentacles above the water.

“N-nothing.” I stammer hastily returning my gaze and focus to plucking a few blades of grass out of the ground.

“So because you can’t deal with your guilt about Ariana you’re killing defenseless grass?” She asks me with a wry smile on her face. I flush and stop tearing up the small blades.

“You know I think I liked you better when you were entirely factual and didn’t know how to use sarcasm.” I tell her. Hermione laughs at that statement. Harry and Ron are lazing about a few feet in front of us.

“Just apologize Jamie. You’d be surprised how far an apology will actually go.” Hermione tells me.

A shadow falls across us and we look up to see a very bleary-eyed Hagrid, mopping his sweaty face with one of his tablecloth-sized handkerchiefs and beaming down at us.

“Know I shouldn’ feel happy, after wha’ happened las’ night,” he says. “I mean, Black escapin’ again, an’ everythin’ — but guess what?”

“What?” we say, pretending to look curious.

“Beaky! He escaped! He’s free! Bin celebratin’ all night!”

“That’s wonderful!” says Hermione, giving Ron a reproving look because he looks as though he is close to laughing.

“Yeah . . . can’t’ve tied him up properly,” says Hagrid, gazing happily out over the grounds. “I was worried this mornin’, mind . . . thought he mighta met Professor Lupin on the grounds, but Lupin says he never ate anythin’ las’ night. . . .”

“What?” says Harry quickly.

“Blimey, haven’ yeh heard?” asks Hagrid, his smile fading a little. He lowers his voice, even though there is nobody in sight. “Er — Snape told all the Slytherins this mornin’. . . . Thought everyone’d know by now . . . Professor Lupin’s a werewolf, see. An’ he was loose on the grounds las’ night. . . . He’s packin’ now, o’ course.”

“He’s packing?” says Harry, alarmed. “Why?”

“Leavin’, isn’ he?” explains Hagrid, looking surprised that Harry has to ask.  “Resigned firs’ thing this mornin’. Says he can’t risk it happenin’ again.”

Harry scrambles to his feet. “I’m going to see him,” he says to Ron and Hermione.

“But if he’s resigned —”

“— doesn’t sound like there’s anything we can do —”

“I don’t care. I still want to see him. I’ll meet you back here.” Harry gets up and scrambles to his feet.

“Wait up! I’ll come with you!” I shout out after Harry.

* * *

 

Lupin’s office door is open. He has already packed most of his things. The grindylow’s empty tank stands next to his battered old suitcase, which is open and nearly full. Lupin is bending over something on his desk and looks up only when Harry knocks on the door.

“I saw you coming,” says Lupin, smiling. He points to the parchment he has been poring over. It is the Marauder’s Map.

“We just saw Hagrid,” says Harry as we step into his office. “And he said you’d resigned. It’s not true, is it?”

“I’m afraid it is,” says Lupin. He starts opening his desk drawers and taking out the contents.

“Now Harry I’m afraid that I’m going to have to ask you to step outside. I have some last business to take care of with Miss Pendragon here.” Lupin tells Harry giving my friend a pointed look and gesturing for him to exit the office. Harry gives us a confused look, and leaves closing the door behind him.

“You didn’t have to do that you know.” I tell him. Professor Lupin raises his eyebrow at me. “You know Harry better than me. I only came to say farewell.”

Lupin grins at me and pulls out a rather large bound book. He blows off some dust from the top of it, and comes around to the other side of his desk to stand in front of me. “This dear Jamie was entrusted to James and Lily Potter before they died. It was from Daniel and Alexis, your parents. They were on the run as well, and were worried about this article falling into unsavory hands that would destroy it.” He explains.

“Augustus.” I breathe. Lupin nods his head solemnly.

“Before James and Lily’s death, the book was passed onto me. I have been holding this until the right moment to hand it over to you and your brother. As the pair of you have grown older, the book has been updated as well. It is my honor to hand this back over to the Pendragon family finally.” He tells me handing the book to me.

I take it in my hands surprised by the weight of it. I look down at the writing on the cover of the book. The Royal Lineage of the Pendragon Family, I feel my jaw drop slightly, as I open up the cover of the book, and I’m greeted with a moving hand drawn portrait of Uther and Arthur Pendragon, and standing beside them is Merlin himself.

I can’t believe it. I look back up at Lupin shocked. He grins at me softly. “Flip to the back, I feel there is something there that will interest you.” He says. I flip through generations of my family until I come to the near back, and freeze on the portrait of two very familiar people.

“Mom… Dad.” I say. My parents’ faces are smiling up at me, while pushing each other back and forth playfully. I feel tears streak down my face, and I turn the page sobbing at the sight, my whole family together. My mother and father are holding my brother and I.

“I don’t know what to say… thank you Professor Lupin.” I tell him looking up at him earnestly. The man smiles at me softly, before holding his hand out for me to shake.

“I am no longer your professor Jamie, I believe that you may call me Remus now. I was very fond of your parents.” He tells me. I smile at him tremulously, and ignore his hand, rushing forward to embrace him in a hug.

“I believe that my parents didn’t mind your condition Remus, and neither do I.” I tell him. He relaxes into the embrace, and returns it lightly.

“You’re a remarkable young woman Jamie. I dare say that Hogwarts will have to look out in the future.” I laugh at his comment.

“Take care of yourself Remus, until next time.” I tell him. I let go of the man, and give him a watery smile, as I exit his office descending the stairs into the classroom. Harry shoots up from his seat.

“Your turn.” I tell him clutching the book to me tighter, and leaving the room. I need some time to regroup my feelings. 

* * *

 

Nobody at Hogwarts knows the truth of what had happened the night that Sirius, Buckbeak, and Pettigrew had vanished except Harry, Ron, Hermione, Professor Dumbledore, and me. As the end of term approaches, I hear many different theories about what had really happened, but none of them come close to the truth.

Malfoy is furious about Buckbeak. He is convinced that Hagrid has found a way of smuggling the hippogriff to safety, and seems outraged that he and his father have been outwitted by a gamekeeper. Percy Weasley, meanwhile, has much to say on the subject of Sirius’s escape.

“If I manage to get into the Ministry, I’ll have a lot of proposals to make about Magical Law Enforcement!” he tells the only person who would listen — his girlfriend, Penelope. I think that its safe to say that Percy is shocked the next morning by a firecracker in his porridge giving him an entirely new facial.

Though the weather is perfect, though the atmosphere is so cheerful, though he knows we have achieved the near impossible in helping Sirius to freedom, Harry has never approached the end of a school year in worse spirits. We have tried to cheer him up multiple times.

He certainly isn’t the only one who was sorry to see Professor Lupin go. The whole of our Defense Against the Dark Arts class is miserable about his resignation.

“Wonder what they’ll give us next year?” says Seamus Finnigan gloomily.

“Maybe a vampire,” suggests Dean Thomas hopefully.

The exam results come out on the last day of term. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I have passed every subject. Harry and I are amazed that we have gotten through Potions. I have a shrewd suspicion that Dumbledore might have stepped in to stop Snape failing us on purpose. Snape’s behavior towards Harry and me over the past week has been quite alarming. I didn’t think it possible that Snape’s dislike for Harry and me can increase, but it certainly had. A muscle twitches unpleasantly at the corner of Snape’s thin mouth every time he looks at Harry, and he is constantly flexing his fingers, as though itching to place them around Harry’s throat.

He’s just so annoyed at me for the outburst and his thoughts that I had been a part of the plot against him.

Percy has got his top-grade N.E.W.T.s; Fred and George have scraped a handful of O.W.L.s each. Gryffindor House, meanwhile, largely thanks to our spectacular performance in the Quidditch Cup, have won the House Championship for the third year running. This means that the end of term feast takes place amid decorations of scarlet and gold, and that the Gryffindor table is the noisiest of the lot, as everyone celebrates. Even Harry manages to forget about the journey back to the Dursleys the next day as he eats, drinks, talks, and laughs with the rest.

As the Hogwarts Express pulls out of the station the next morning, Hermione gives Harry, Ron, and I some surprising news.

“I went to see Professor McGonagall this morning, just before breakfast. I’ve decided to drop Muggle Studies.” I raise my eyebrows in shock at my best friend.

“But you passed your exam with three hundred and twenty percent!” cries Ron.

“I know,” sighs Hermione, “but I can’t stand another year like this one. That Time-Turner, it was driving me mad. I’ve handed it in. Without Muggle Studies and Divination, I’ll be able to have a normal schedule again.”

“I still can’t believe you didn’t tell us about it,” says Ron grumpily. “We’re supposed to be your friends.”

“I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone,” says Hermione severely. She looks around at Harry, who is watching Hogwarts disappear from view behind a mountain.

“Oh, cheer up, Harry!” says Hermione sadly.

“I’m okay,” says Harry quickly. “Just thinking about the holidays.”

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about them too,” says Ron. “Harry, you’ve got to come and stay with us. I’ll fix it up with Mum and Dad, then I’ll call you. I know how to use a fellytone now —”

I wince thinking how well that’s going to go over, besides my own vacation is not looking to go very well either.

“A telephone, Ron,” says Hermione. “Honestly, you should take Muggle Studies next year. . . .” Ron ignores her.

“It’s the Quidditch World Cup this summer! How about it, Harry? Come and stay, and we’ll go and see it! Dad can usually get tickets from work.” I perk up at the sound of Quidditch.

“I’ll see you there then! There is no way that I’m not going to that competition!” I cry bouncing up and down in my seat slightly happy to have something to look forward to now.

“Yeah . . . I bet the Dursleys’d be pleased to let me come . . . especially after what I did to Aunt Marge. . . .”

Feeling considerably more cheerful, Harry joins Ron, Hermione, and me in several games of Exploding Snap, and when the witch with the tea cart arrives, we buy a whole lot of unneeded sweets. I leave the compartment after a few minutes to use the facilities. On my way back to my compartment, I freeze seeing the flash of blond hair and brown eyes in front of me.

Ariana is hanging out by the door of her compartment talking to Cedric Diggory. Part of me wonders why she’s talking to him, but it’s not my place to comment about it. Ariana shifts her gaze to me, and the smile slowly melts off her face. She says goodbye to Diggory, and closes the few feet between us. She crosses her arms when she’s in front of me.

I shift my feet nervously and bite my lower lip. “So I’m pretty sure that you’ve been avoiding me.” Ariana says being the first to break the silence between the two of us. I wince at the sadness in her voice.

“I haven’t… I’ve just been dealing with some things. Listen, about the other night… I’m sorry. We were just in a big hurry, and I was stressed so I’m sorry.” I tell her looking her in the eyes hoping that she’ll see that I’m sincere. Ariana stares at me for a long while before nodding her head.

Suddenly I’m socked really hard in the arm. “Ouch!” I cry. Ariana glares at me, before smiling largely at me.

“Took you long enough Pendragon, and you’re forgiven by the way.” She tells me giving my hand a slight squeeze before spinning around and disappearing back into her compartment. I stare after her for a minute before shaking my head, and returning to my compartment.

It is late in the afternoon before something interesting happens. “Harry,” says Hermione suddenly, peering over his shoulder. “What’s that thing outside your window?”

Harry turns to look outside. Something very small and gray is bobbing in and out of sight beyond the glass. He stands up for a better look and sees that it was a tiny owl, carrying a letter that is much too big for it. The owl is so small, in fact, that it keeps tumbling over in the air, buffeted this way and that in the train’s slipstream. Harry quickly pulls down the window, stretches out his arm, and catches it. He brings the owl carefully inside. The owl drops its letter onto Harry’s seat and begins zooming around our compartment, apparently very pleased with itself for accomplishing its task. Hedwig clicks her beak with a sort of dignified disapproval, and Dionysus hoots softly at her, and she calms down. Crookshanks sits up in his seat, following the owl with his great yellow eyes. Ron, noticing this, snatches the owl safely out of harm’s way.

I can’t believe we’re back to this yet again. Harry picks up the letter. It is addressed to him. He rips open the letter, and shouts, “It’s from Sirius!”

“What?” Ron, Hermione, and I say excitedly. “Read it aloud!”

Dear Harry,

I hope this finds you before you reach your aunt and uncle. I don’t know whether they’re used to owl post.

Buckbeak and I are in hiding. I won’t tell you where, in case this falls into the wrong hands. I have some doubt about the owl’s reliability, but he is the best I could find, and he did seem eager for the job.

I believe the dementors are still searching for me, but they haven’t a hope of finding me here. I am planning to allow some Muggles to glimpse me soon, a long way from Hogwarts, so that the security on the castle will be lifted.

There is something I never got around to telling you during our brief meeting. It was I who sent you the Firebolt —

“Ha!” says Hermione triumphantly. “See! I told you it was from him!”

“Yes, but he hadn’t jinxed it, had he?” says Ron. “Ouch!” The tiny owl, now hooting happily in his hand, has nibbled one of his fingers in what it seems to think is an affectionate way. I snicker at my friend, and Ron shoots me a cross look from across the compartment.

 

Crookshanks took the order to the Owl Office for me. I used your name but told them to take the gold from Gringotts vault number seven hundred and eleven — my own. Please consider it as thirteen birthdays’ worth of presents from your godfather.

I would also like to apologize for the fright I think I gave you that night last year when you left your uncle’s house. I had only hoped to get a glimpse of you before starting my journey north, but I think the sight of me alarmed you.

I am enclosing something else for you, which I think will make your next year at Hogwarts more enjoyable.

If ever you need me, send word. Your owl will find me.

I’ll write again soon.

Sirius

 

Harry looks back into his envelope and a huge smile breaks out onto his face.

 

I, Sirius Black, Harry Potter’s godfather, hereby give him permission to visit Hogsmeade on weekends.

 

“That’ll be good enough for Dumbledore!” says Harry happily. He looks back at Sirius’s letter. I’m very happy for my friend now that he’ll be able to join us in Hogsmeade legally.

“Hang on, there’s a P.S. . . .”

 

I thought your friend Ron might like to keep this owl, as it’s my fault he no longer has a rat.

 

Ron’s eyes widen. The minute owl is still hooting excitedly. “Keep him?” he says uncertainly. He looks closely at the owl for a moment; then, to our great surprise, he holds him out for Crookshanks to sniff.

“What d’you reckon?” Ron asks the cat. “Definitely an owl?” I burst into laughter, holding my sides.

Crookshanks purrs. “That’s good enough for me,” says Ron happily. “He’s mine.” I grin at him.

Harry spends the rest of the ride rereading Sirius’s letter while Hermione, Ron, and I try to name the small owl. When we get to the station, I meet up with my brother as we approach the throng of adults waiting for children. Luka looks drawn and wary as well. We spot Kingsley easily as he sands next to the Weasley’s they seem to be talking to each other worriedly.

As we approach the group, Kingsley turns to see us. He takes a few steps forward and takes the two of us in his arms. We hug him back, and shoot each other odd looks as he leads us away from the throng of people.

“What’s going on Kingsley?” Luka asks him worriedly. I don’t like what’s happening at the moment.

“Luka, Jamie, we need to talk.” He tells us seriously sitting the pair of us down on a bench as he looks down at us.

“You’re starting to worry us Kingsley.” I tell him softly. He sighs, and rubs his hands over his face. For the first time I notice the dark bags under his eyes. He looks exhausted.

“I got reassigned to a new detail. This new job requires my presence and attention twenty-four seven.” Kingsley says. I feel my world start to slow down. Luka’s eyes widen.

“Y-you’re leaving us?” He says choking on the words. I can’t believe this is happening. After everything that went on this year, this is going to happen.

“No! I’m not leaving you! Well— not on purpose. I am no longer able to care for you two properly. I know that you have felt the strain as well. Now I care for both of you dearly but I have to do this to protect all of us. Dark times are coming and we need our greatest defense.” He tries to explain. I feel the sting of tears in my eyes, and fight them off. I’m not going to break down right now.

“So what’s going to happen to us? Are we going to the orphanage?” I question him. Kingsley pales and shakes his head violently.

“No! Jamie, Luka, I would never do that to you two! I would never leave you alone like that! The ministry and I have arranged for new guardians for the two of you.” He tells us. I raise my eyebrow at the word guardians.

“Who then?” Luka asks attempting to regain his emotions.

“Well we are.” A hesitant voice says from a little bit away. My brother and I whip our heads up at the voice and see the familiar pair of Arthur and Molly Weasley.

“You will?” I ask incredulously. Mrs. Weasley smiles at both of us nervously.

“Of course we will.” She says.

“Yes well what’s two more mouths to feed anyway? Besides you two have been good friends with Ron for a while now, and a part of the family. So if you want, there’s an open place in our home for you.” Mr. Weasley tells us. I glance at my brother unsure of what his response will be to this.

We’ve both spent our fair share of time at the Burrow with the Weasley family but to actually live there is a whole different story. “Are you sure about this?” Luka asks unsurely. Both the Weasleys nod their head in response to the question.

“And your kids know about this?” I say not quite sure if I should believe that.

“Asked them all a week ago. They said that it was fine with them. Does that mean that you’re coming with us?” Mr. Weasley asks uncertainly. Luka and I have a quick silent conversation before turning back to the redheaded couple and nodding our heads.

Mrs. Weasley squeals and throws her arms around us, crushing my brother and me in a tight hug. “Oh this is wonderful! I promise you won’t regret it!” She tells us, letting us go, and steering the group back towards the group of people.

“Fantastic!” Mr. Weasley exclaims. Kingsley smiles at the four of us, and looks at us sadly.

“I will miss you two.” Kingsley tells us. Without a second thought, Luka and I throw our arms around him and hug him tightly. I may have issues with the man, but that doesn’t mean that I won’t miss him.

“We’ll miss you too.” Luka and I tell him. With that Kingsley lets us go and with one last farewell disappears into the crowd. When we come back to the gathered Weasleys Fred and George are grinning at us, and Ron is grinning at me proudly.

“I pulled that one over you Jamie, you have to admit so!” He states proudly. I glare at him, and sock him in the arm for his troubles. Ginny comes over to me and pulls on the sleeve of my robe. I turn my attention to her.

“This will be great. Now we can gang up on the boys, and show them who’s really in charge around here.” Ginny tells me with a smile. I chuckle at that and nod my head.

Percy just looks and Luka and me indifferently, “My room is off limits.” He says shortly, as we turn and start leaving the station. We had bid farewell to Harry and Hermione before meeting up with the Weasleys and Kingsley at the station.

As soon as we’re out of the station Fred and George drop back to either side of me. “Know what Jamie?” Fred asks me.

“No what?” I ask.

“We now have a whole summer to make new pranks!” George exclaims. I grin with the two of them madly.

“Oh this is going to be a long summer!” Mrs. Weasley exclaims from in front of us having overheard our conversation. Our mad laughter drifts off into the summer air, and I can’t help but think that maybe this won’t be such a bad thing to happen to us after all.

 

THE END

(FOR NOW)


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